The King's Shadow
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: After a year in Camelot, Merlin has made a great deal of progress in his quest to restore magic to the land. Still, there's a long way to go, and the emergence of dangerous new enemies is not making the journey any shorter. Sequel to The Warlock's Quickening; Book II of The Albion Cycle.
1. Blessed

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. Never have, never will, so this disclaimer applies to the entire fic. Please don't sue me.

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Chapter I: Blessed

The other travelers hadn't looked at him twice. They had seen him, of course, but their gazes had slid past him and his companion and their horses, silently dismissing him as irrelevant to their own lives.

They could not have been more wrong.

That wandering traveler was no ordinary farmboy, no typical servant or guildsman or soldier. He was one of the most important men alive, a legend come to life. For in that land of myth and time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rested upon that young man's shoulders. His name… _Merlin_.

Now, though, that young man had left those travelers and their roads behind. He was making his way through the woods, following a sense that he couldn't quite explain, a feeling that something important lay ahead. He knew, of course, what that something was—he had made this journey for a reason, after all—but he had never actually seen it and was not quite sure where it was.

Then he crested a hill, and his unasked questions were answered.

The valley before him was shrouded in mist, thick and heavy and everywhere, rising from the lake in its center to obscure a broken ruin of a city. A few of the valley's buildings rose high enough to peek out of the fog, but they were few and far between. Seen from this vantage point, the Isle of the Blessed was almost entirely hidden.

"Will we be able to see once we're there?" Merlin asked.

His tutor and traveling companion, the druid Blaise, smiled slightly. "Of course. You cannot see particularly far, but no one would have lived there if the mists hid everything."

"People lived there?" Merlin echoed, surprised. His mount, a placid bay gelding, began the descent. Blaise's mare followed, prompting Merlin to twist around in his saddle. "I thought that the High Priestesses only went there for festivals. Beltane, Samhain, things like that."

"Oh, no. The Isle had a town once: guildsmen and innkeepers, servants and students. It even had its own ruling house, though Uther wiped it out during the Slaughter." He sighed. "They were dragonlords and ruled over an important center of the Old Religion. He would never have let them live."

Merlin shivered slightly. The day was warm, but remembering what had happened to his father's people never failed to send a chill up his spine. "I suppose not."

They had reached a flat area. Blaise pulled his mare to a stop. Merlin frowned, raised a brow in question. "Why are we stopping?"

"Do you recall your decision about who would be attending the summit?"

"Oh." Merlin flushed a little. "Right."

His eyes flashed gold.

Merlin Caledonensis would not be attending the summit. There were too many people, too many possibilities of his secret being exposed to someone who would, accidentally or not, let slip that Arthur's manservant was secretly a powerful warlock leading a magical resistance movement.

Fortunately, he had a disguise already prepared.

"Emrys" shared Merlin's height and build, but that was where the similarities ended. The illusion had a heart-shaped face, dark blond hair, much smaller ears, and uncanny yellow-gold eyes. He was very blatantly a practitioner of magic, with a triskel on his deep blue cloak and a gem-tipped staff in his hand. He was the one who would be attending the first-ever gathering of the children of magic.

Technically, he would be leading it, but he tried not to think about that.

Mere minutes after donning his illusory disguise, Merlin and Blaise ran across two travelers in peasants' garb. The newcomers took one look at Emrys, then the tension drained from their bodies.

"You're here for the summit as well?" the man asked.

"Indeed."

The woman poked her companion in the ribcage. "Please, forgive my husband's lack of manners. His name is Cagan, and I am Cordelia. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Merlin beamed at her. "The pleasure's all mine, goodwife. My friend is Blaise, and I'm Emrys."

Their reaction would have been comical if it wasn't so mortifying. Their eyes widened to enormous proportions as the rest of their bodies froze. Then Cordelia was dropping into a curtsey and her husband was bowing low, hat falling off, leaving Merlin with his arm outstretched and no one to shake his hand.

His face was burning, and his ears probably looked like they were on fire. "Please get up," he begged. "I'm not—I'm not someone you need to bow to. I'm just Emrys—just me."

Blaise shook his head. Merlin got the impression that his mentor was trying not to laugh.

Cordelia and Cagan rose to their feet. They were still looking at Merlin with rather more awe than he was comfortable with, but at least they weren't bowing anymore. In the hope that distracting his new companions would keep them from genuflecting again, Merlin asked, "So, where are you from?"

They were from a port town in Gedref, a place on the coast inhabited primarily by fishermen and traders, with a great many innkeepers to accommodate the sailors who passed through. Cagan was a fisherman, Cordelia a seamstress and selkie. They had four children, three girls and a boy, whom they had left in the custody of Cagan's brother. The two oldest had already manifested as selkies, and they worried that the younger two would as well.

"My brother knows about Cordelia, of course," Cagan explained, "and he knows what to do if the little ones develop their gifts while we're gone, but we still worry."

"I've been learning scrying," Merlin said slowly. "It isn't my strongest ability, but if you wanted, I could occasionally check up on them while you're here."

Husband and wife exchanged glances, clearly torn between parental concern and an unwillingness to bother the Great and Important Emrys with their personal problems.

"We will think about it," Cordelia finally said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

By now, they had reached the edge of the lake. "There should be a boat around here somewhere," Blaise muttered.

"It's probably bringing other visitors to the island," Cagan suggested. "Do you know how many people are coming?"

Merlin and Blaise glanced at each other. "I have no idea," the younger spellbinder confessed. "Do you know, Blaise?"

The older man frowned, clearly mulling it over. "There ought to be representatives from most druid tribes, so that is at least two hundred from my people alone. Probably more—most tribes will probably send more than one representative. Then the Catha are sending a delegation, as are the Vates and perhaps even the Bendrui. That's probably another ten or twelve people. But I suspect that most attendees will be unaffiliated spellbinders and sympathizers who heard about the meeting and chose to attend it themselves." He shrugged. "Perhaps a thousand guests? Likely less than two thousand, but certainly several hundred."

"…Two thousand?"

"Possibly."

Merlin suddenly didn't feel very good. Two thousand people was… two thousand was a _lot_ of people. "Oh."

"You'll do fine," Blaise promised, his eyes softening. "You're very good at talking."

"Than— _hey_." Merlin glared.

"I think I see a boat," Cagan announced, squinting into the fog.

Merlin followed the other man's gaze. Sure enough, a dark shape was moving across the lake. He couldn't tell how far away it was or its size, but it certainly seemed boat-shaped.

"Is that the boat?" asked a new voice. Merlin and his companions turned around to see a group of six wearing druidic robes. The leader, a woman with long graying hair, was looking in the boat's general direction with her head tilted and a frown on her mouth.

"It is," Cordelia said, "but I don't think it's large enough for all of it." She withdrew a brown sealskin from her traveling pack. "Cagan, dear, everything you packed is waterproof, right?"

"You don't have to take the baggage."

"I know, but that boat will be crowded enough without our things. Let me bring it over, Cagan."

"A selkie?" one of the druids asked.

"Yes." Cordelia donned her sealskin. Her form seemed to melt and blur, and a moment later, a dark brown seal stood in her place.

Cagan knelt to wrap his bag around her shoulders. "Thank you. I'll meet you at the dock."

Cordelia bobbed her head in agreement before entering the water.

"You're a lucky man," Blaise said.

Cagan grinned. "I know."

Soon they had boarded the small ferry, and Merlin found himself silently thanking Cordelia for swimming across the lake. It was crowded enough without her; if she had been present, Merlin would have had to levitate someone or make the overworked ferryman take another trip (though he probably had to take another trip anyways, since they were far from the last arrivals).

The boat glided across the water, sliding through the mists towards a series of pale shapes that only gradually became more distinct. The lake beneath them was dark and smooth as obsidian, rippling only a little as the boat ghosted through it. Sounds felt muffled, somehow, and also vaguely disrespectful. Merlin said nothing at all until they reached a rickety wooden dock—fresh wood, he noted, not yet smoothed by time—and climbed onto the low, damp ground of the Isle of the Blessed. Even then he spoke more quietly than usual when he asked, "Are the mists magical, Blaise?"

"Yes," the older man replied. "They were a defense system meant to confound invaders, but after Camelot sacked the citadel, there was no one left to remove the spell. Nimueh could have, I suppose, but she opted not to, and the magic… changed… over time."

"Yes," Merlin whispered, drawing his cloak a little tighter. "I can feel it."

It was like he was being watched by a thousand thousand unseen eyes, their owners speaking in whispers just beyond his range of hearing. The tendrils of fog that had brushed against him on the boat had felt almost like fingers, reaching, grasping, probing, touching. The mists didn't feel hostile, per se, but they were… very, very old, and powerful, and not necessarily friendly.

"I don't," Blaise said quietly. He looked a little worried. "Do you think you'll be all right?"

"Yes. It's just—very heavy here." He grimaced. "That didn't make any sense."

"It made perfect sense. Come. Let's go further inland, get you away from the mists."

Merlin liked that idea. "Let's."

After a quick consultation with the druid on ferry-greeting duty, they followed his directions to the heart of the citadel. Not for the first time, Merlin was superbly grateful that Iseldir's tribe had opted to come early and set things up.

The site of the meeting was the castle/temple complex, two buildings connected by a narrow processional hall that curved around the base of a hill. The temple was mostly ruined, its pillars knocked down, its statues and art defiled, but the castle was in much better condition. The attendees were to sleep there; they would hold the meetings on the gently sloping hill that rose behind the buildings.

Merlin's room was roughly the size of his chamber back in Camelot. He deposited his things on the cot before leaving to explore. Blaise, who was placed in the room next to his, joined him.

There were a _lot_ of people on the Isle of the Blessed: men, women, even the occasional child. And was that a troll lurking by the stables? Merlin had never seen one, but Gaius had told him about them and that squat, wrinkled creature certainly matched the physician's descriptions.

It was so strange to see people using magic out in the open. They weren't making a blatant display of it, but over there were two druid women discussing incantations for healing, and a minute later Merlin noticed a man spell away a stain on his trousers. Acting on impulse, the warlock summoned his globe of light. No one batted an eye.

Merlin grinned.

 _This_ is what they were all here for. This is what he wanted for Camelot, for Essetir, for all the kingdoms of Albion. This was freedom.

"It's still day," Blaise pointed out, but his eyes were soft.

"I know," Merlin acknowledged, banishing the pulsing globe. "I just thought…." But here he trailed off, embarrassed.

Blaise understood. "It's rather odd to see magic practiced outside of a druid camp," he confessed. "It has been a very long time since anyone could do so safely."

"Too long."

"Yes. Much too—"

"Emrys!"

Every head turned in the direction of the voice, Merlin and Blaise's included. A druid boy was running towards them, dark-haired and bright-eyed, with a teal cloak around his shoulders and a brilliant smile.

"Mordred!" Merlin laughed, scooping the younger warlock up in a hug. "How have you been?"

"As well as can be expected," the boy answered. "You?"

"Keeping the prat alive."

"You're quite good at that," stated a third voice.

"Lancelot!"

The would-be knight nodded, grinning ear to ear. Merlin grabbed him in a hug too. "I missed you," he said.

"And I you," Lancelot agreed, backing out of his friend's embrace. "It's one of the reasons I'm here."

Blaise coughed. "Perhaps we could continue the reunions elsewhere?"

That was when Merlin realized they'd attracted an audience. Virtually everyone within earshot was watching, whispering commentary to one another. Merlin couldn't make out everything they were saying, but he heard his druid name several times.

"Let's," Merlin muttered, flushing scarlet. Was _everyone_ going to react like this?

"Iseldir wants to speak with you anyways," Mordred declared. "It's not urgent, but we could talk on the way there, maybe?"

"Good plan," Merlin said. He gestured with a broad sweep of his arm. "Lead the way."

The three friends chatted as they walked along, exchanging brief summaries of what they had done these past few months. Mordred claimed that he hadn't really done much, just learned more magic and done a bit of traveling with his clan. They had mostly stayed in the Darkling Woods, occasionally ascending the White Mountains if Uther's knights were being particularly diligent. Lancelot's tale was a bit more eventful: he'd worked as a guard for a trio of Frankish merchants whose original protector had eloped with a girl from Nemeth. He'd fought some bandits, had a minor run-in with a serket, and wintered in Colchester, where his Frankish employers had helped him get a job on the city watch.

"I've never been there," Mordred said softly. "It's too crowded to be safe. Is it really as big as they say?"

"It is," Lancelot confirmed, "but it used to be bigger, long ago when the Romans were here. Parts of the city were completely abandoned." He shook his head in mild disbelief.

"That might not be so unusual," Merlin pointed out, indicating the abandoned ruin of a city around them.

Lancelot nodded. "Still, it's sad."

Mordred bobbed his head in agreement.

"What about you, Me—Emrys?" Lancelot asked. "What have you been doing?"

By now, Merlin could see Iseldir at the end of the street, so he opted to give the quick version of the story. "I met my long-lost father, talked Kilgharrah into making a magic sword and staff, took Arthur's place in a duel to the death against a wraith, stole a bunch of magical artifacts from Uther's treasure vault, poisoned some bandits who were raiding Ealdor, killed a Questing Beast, blew up an evil sorceress, and smuggled a unicorn into Camelot to save Arthur's life. I think that's all the highlights."

"You _think_?" Lancelot muttered, incredulous.

"Emrys," Iseldir called, inclining his head in greeting. "If you have the time, I'd like to discuss the plans for tomorrow."

"I'll fill you in later," Merlin promised his friends. "Or you could ask Blaise. Right, Blaise? Thanks. But let's meet up after the speeches tomorrow."

"We'll see you then," Lancelot agreed. Mordred nodded, and the two walked away.

Organizing the plans for the next day didn't take half as long as Merlin had expected. Essentially, Emrys would open the day by explaining the general strategy they were using to remind people of magic's potential for good. He would explain his rationale, his goals, his plans. Then they would open the floor to discussion so that anyone and everyone could say their part. Leaders would go first, of course, since they had a duty to represent their peoples, but everyone would have the opportunity to contribute.

If he'd known things would go so quickly, he'd have asked Lancelot and Mordred to stay. Perhaps he could find them before evening truly fell.

That didn't work. Mighty warlock or not, Merlin was still a fallible human being who could (and did) get lost. By the time he arrived back at his chamber, all he wanted to do was collapse into bed.

Then he saw who was waiting for him and his exhaustion was gone.

"Mother!" Beaming, Merlin swept her up in his arms. "Father!" he added as Balinor joined the hug. "I didn't think you'd get here until tomorrow."

"Neither did we, yet here we are." Balinor grinned. "And we didn't even have to ask Kilgharrah for help."

Merlin sniffed. "A dragon is not a horse," he declared.

His parents laughed.

"So how have you been?" their son demanded. He remembered something then, something that made him frown in worry. "You mentioned in your last letter that you had something to tell me. Is everything all right?"

His parents smiled—not grinning, smiling with a soft and beautiful joy that made their entire beings light up. Merlin smiled back, relieved. He'd been worried.

"Merlin," Hunith said, "I'm with child. You're going to be a brother."

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Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein the Mighty Warlock Emrys Deals with the Downsides of Celebrity (Though at Least Paparazzi Hasn't Been Invented Yet)"_

Confession time: This is all I have done. I'd wanted to get at least 2-3 chapters before today, but, well, I had a lot of long term papers to complete, and though they're less fun than this, they kind of take priority. But I did, technically, manage to get this up on May 5. It's still before midnight in my time zone. That counts, right?

I will eventually make a cover for this fic too. Eventually. It's on my to-do list.

Next update: May 26. The meeting begins, characters old and new appear, and something stirs beneath Camelot.

-Antares


	2. The Spellbinders' Summit

Chapter II: The Spellbinders' Summit

Nobody commented when Morgana and Gwen walked out of the castle. They spent enough time in the lower town that everyone assumed they were off to do something with the smallfolk. It was a reasonable assumption, and certainly more easily deduced than their real reason for leaving. After all, very few people would intuit that Uther's ward was on her way to a meeting of magical conspirators.

They stopped in Gwen's house so that Morgana could change out of her lady's finery into something more inconspicuous. Gwen's dress didn't fit exactly right and really looked better on her, but Morgana wasn't about to complain. She knew what her friend was risking.

Gwen knew too. She had been jittery ever since she woke up and only became more nervous as they approached the rendezvous point.

"You don't have to meet him, you know," Morgana pointed out.

Gwen's smile was small and watery. "I'm not afraid of Emrys. I'm afraid that getting involved in this conflict will get you hurt."

"I'm Uther's ward," Morgana reminded her. "I'm already in this conflict. Besides, that's why I'm in disguise, remember?" She patted the ill-fitting dress.

Gwen chewed her lip, clearly not satisfied. "Do you remember that time a couple years ago when I told you about the orphanage by the North Gate?"

"Of course," said Morgana, frowning.

Something had been bothering her friend for the better part of two days. Morgana's initial attempts to discover what was wrong had been gently but firmly turned aside. Then, at supper on the second day, Gwen explained what was bothering her. There was a building by the North Gate that housed almost thirty orphans. Its roof had caught on fire. Nobody was hurt, thank the gods, but the children's caretakers couldn't afford to replace the roof and winter was on its way.

Morgana had been confused. Why hadn't Gwen told her right away? She would be glad to help, she assured her friend.

And Gwen had sighed and explained that she had been torn between reluctance to use Morgana, her friend, to further her own goal on the one hand and her desire to do good on the other. In the end, she'd decided to ask, for what kind of a person would she be if she didn't at least _try_ to speak to someone who could make a difference?

"You're worried that they'll try to use me?"

"More than worried. If anyone finds out who you are, they could force you to become a spy or hurt you to hurt Uther. No other spellbinder has your access to the royal family, and Uther loves you like a daughter." She shivered. "Honestly, I don't know which option scares me more, the spying or the hurting."

Morgana suppressed a wince. This would be so much easier if she could just explain that Emrys was actually Merlin, that he had just as much access to the royal family as she did, that he had left Camelot not just to attend his parents' wedding (which was certainly not taking place in Ealdor, as he had led his uninformed friends to believe) but also to speak at the multi-kingdom magical conspiracy that he had begun, because apparently he was something like magical royalty. (In Morgana's opinion, the 'royalty' part was even more surprising than the magic. But no matter how much Merlin tried to downplay his influence, the fact remained that _he_ had called the meeting, _he_ had attached his other name to it, and hundreds of spellbinders had traveled for days not just to discuss strategy but because _he_ had called them.)

But Merlin in his paranoia had asked her to not tell Gwen. Morgana hadn't been impressed with the warlock's reasoning, but she'd acquiesced because Merlin should be the one to explain everything, not her. It wasn't that she blamed him for being cautious, of course. It was just that this was _Gwen_.

"My disguise," she repeated, a bit less forcefully than she had intended. "I'm only going for this one day, Gwen. All I have to do is meet these Vates and pretend to be a commoner for a few hours. Besides, I doubt anyone will pay attention to me. They'll be too focused on the speeches and debates."

Gwen clearly wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded all the same.

Fortunately, they were almost at the rendezvous point. Their guide was already present, an ancient man in a white robe. Morgana frowned slightly, wondering where Merlin was. She'd thought that "Emrys" would be the one to bring her. But it was the old stranger, not her still-young friend, who smiled warmly at the women as they approached. "I am Anhora, Keeper of the Unicorns. Which of you is going to attend the meet?"

"We both are," Gwen announced.

Morgana turned to her, startled. "Gwen, you don't have to—"

"I know," she interjected, "but I will anyways, just in case."

"A loyal friend," Anhora observed, smiling softly.

"She is," Morgana agreed. " _Reckless_ , sometimes, but loyal."

"Lord Emrys mentioned that you would be accompanied here by your most trusted companion. If you and he trust her to come this far, then I can trust her as well."

Gwen dimpled.

"Shall we?" asked Anhora, offering the women his hands.

"Let's."

Teleportation, Morgana discovered, was extremely disorienting. One moment she was in the deep green forest outside Camelot, a brook babbling in her ears, the ground beneath her soft and damp. Then, half a heartbeat later, she was standing on cold stone cobbles surrounded by buildings as tall as any in Camelot. She staggered slightly, would have fallen if not for Anhora's hand at her shoulder. "Don't worry," he assured her and Gwen, who looked just as unbalanced as her mistress, "it's difficult for everyone their first few times."

"If you say so," Morgana muttered.

"Come," Anhora said. "The meeting is about to begin."

He led them to a hillside. The women thanked him and took places near the back of the gathering assembly, almost at the top of the hill. At its foot, a bald fellow in a robe was exchanging quiet (or maybe not so quiet; it was hard to tell at this distance, with everyone around her murmuring themselves) words with a slender young man in a dark blue cloak. Merlin in his guise as Emrys, she knew.

There were apparently still a few minutes before things actually started, so Morgana scanned the crowd. The people around her looked so ordinary, just average men and women in peasant clothes. They were young and old, dark and fair, on blankets and cloaks and the bare grass still damp with dew. There were a few exceptions—quite a few people wore robes, and she didn't think that the quintet of filthy humanoids sitting in the mud (and mercifully downwind from everyone) were human—but for the most part, they were indistinguishable from the people she saw every day walking the streets of Camelot. For all she knew, these _were_ some of those people.

Someone cried out. Suddenly people were pointing towards the skies, their voices rising in wonder and fear. Bat-winged and golden-scaled, the dragon landed right next to the ruined temple that was apparently serving as a makeshift barracks for the visitors. Kilgharrah folded his great wings, touching down surprisingly lightly for such an enormous creature.

"But isn't the last dragon supposed to be imprisoned?" Gwen hissed. Her face had gone white, and her eyes were huge with shock.

"I think someone must have freed him," Morgana replied, remembering when Merlin had told her about that adventure.

"Is that _safe_?" Gwen demanded.

The dragon spoke before Morgana could answer. "People of Albion, I am Kilgharrah, last of the dragons. For years I despaired in the tunnels of Camelot, raging and mourning the murder of my kin." He smiled. Morgana hadn't known that dragons _could_ smile. "Then Emrys came to save me. He broke my chains and set me free, just as he will do to you. Through him, we will return magic to the land."

He retreated then, coiling against the temple wall. Merlin stood alone at the foot of the hill, his back to the dragon, his eyes on the crowd of hundreds that was waiting for him to speak. His posture was rigid, Morgana noted. Afraid.

Merlin was silent for a long moment before he squared his shoulders, drew himself up to his full height. "For the past twenty years, we have been persecuted without cause, hunted to the ends of the island, and burned whenever the authorities can get ahold of us. We fought back, of course. We're still fighting… but violence and bloodshed don't work. They _can't_ work, not really.

"Yes, we can kill Uther Pendragon. Yes, we can kill every king and queen and noble who supported the Slaughter. Yes, we can kill their successors, should they prove as intractable as their parents. But we _can't_ kill every man, woman, and child in Albion who has been taught to fear and hate magic these past years, and assassinating rulers until we find someone who legally frees us will just make the common folk fear and hate us more. That is what our oppressors have done, and now look at us plotting against them. The Slaughter has proven that a people cannot create peace through terror.

"Yet we need peace and the freedom that comes with it. We can't just let the Slaughter continue, and I swear to you that we won't. Thus we need another plan, something that will end the red spiral of hate and death instead of just perpetuating the cycle.

"Most of you know about the druids' actions this winter. You've heard tell of how they are using their magic blatantly and publicly, reminding those who witness it that our power can be a source of good. We need to do what they are doing. We need to persuade the people that their folk and ours can live in harmony, to make them remember that magic was part of life for hundreds and thousands of years before Uther Pendragon.

"There are two basic ways that we can persuade people: word and deed. The druids are carrying out the deed part of the plan by publicly using magic to help people, then disappearing into the woods. Alator of the Catha has agreed to do the same, and I have done so within Camelot itself. I will not force you to publicly use your magic. Believe me, I understand the fear. But if you so choose to use your magic in front of others, do it cautiously. The druids escape back into the woods the moment their spells are done. They run and hide so that the bloodcloaks can't find them. If you follow their example, always make sure to have a way to escape, and try to wear a disguise if at all possible.

"Not everyone should contribute to the deeds project. We want to save magic, not martyr ourselves for no good reason. But everyone on this island can help our cause simply by speaking. Tell stories from before the Slaughter and stories about the atrocities committed against our people. Spread the tavern tales you hear about spellbinders defying the law to carry out good works. Teach your children that magic is neither better nor worse than the human heart. If we work together, I _know_ that we can return magic and freedom to Albion."

Merlin fell silent then, and the crowd erupted into applause. The poor warlock looked extremely uncomfortable with his reception, Morgana noted as she clapped along. No doubt he was blushing furiously underneath his glamor.

The next speaker was a druid who introduced himself as Iseldir whose tribe had been the first to implement the "persuasion through deeds" part of Merlin's plan. He explained in great detail how his people had managed to perform blatant acts of magic in broad daylight without getting themselves killed.

It occurred to Morgana that maybe Anhora should have been a bit more cautious when it came to letting non-magical strangers listen in on this sort of thing. It wasn't that Gwen would betray her—the very thought was ridiculous—but Anhora had had no way of knowing that. She might have to warn Merlin about potential security lapses.

Iseldir's speech was longer than Merlin's, doubtless because it was far more in-depth. The druid lingered at the base of the hill after he was finished, allowing the audience to ask questions. Morgana was a bit surprised but quite pleased that many of the inquiries concerned ways to adapt the druids' strategy for ordinary people.

The next two speakers proposed ways to keep ahead of their enemies, namely scrying to discover information (for instance, about when and where to expect attacks) and a proposed communication network that would let them distribute that information quickly and inconspicuously. There already was a sort of preexisting magical communications network, of course—that was how people had heard about the summit. The second speaker had suggestions about tightening that web, improving it to prevent unnecessary casualties. They invited people to speak with them during the lunch break if they had any interest in becoming hubs of communication.

Then the third speaker came up, and Morgana forgot how to breathe.

Red dress, blonde hair, lovely young face. She knew this woman, in a way. She'd seen her in her dreams.

Head held high, the blonde proclaimed, "I am Morgause, High Priestess of the Old Religion. Emrys's plan is wise, but I fear that he has put too much trust in the inherent goodness of kings and queens. Can we really afford to gamble the future of our people on the cooperation of the very folk who condemned us in the first place? No. No, we cannot. We need to guarantee that the rulers of the land will cooperate."

Morgana and Gwen glanced at each other. Neither liked the sound of that.

"Let us choose a team of spellbinders to infiltrate the households of the tyrants who have oppressed us. Uther, Rodor, Cenred… all of them. The spellbinders can then enchant the tyrants' heirs to see magic in a more sympathetic light. Then, when the people have learned to accept our kin, our agents can assassinate our enemies and place our allies on the throne. We will rule the land, and no one will ever slaughter our people again."

The crowd was murmuring. Not everybody sounded horrified by the plan.

"Absolutely not!" Merlin-as-Emrys stalked over to Morgause's side. "I told you so this morning, Morgause. If we want peace, then there _must_ be trust between magic and mundane."

"And I told you that the mind control would only last a single generation! Our puppets' children would be free!"

"Yes, because nothing can go horribly wrong in the space of a generation." Merlin's hands were on his hips, his eyes narrow. "A peace built on mind control and murder will not last."

"How would you know if we don't try?"

The two spellbinders were clearly on the brink of blows. Thankfully for the entire assembly, Kilgharrah intervened before they could start throwing fireballs. "You were meant to speak on another topic, priestess."

Morgause glared.

Kilgharrah stared right back at her. His huge golden eyes did not blink.

It was Morgause who turned away, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. "Very well," she said coolly. "My official, Emrys-approved purpose in speaking here today was to tell you the truth about the Slaughter."

Merlin stepped away, but he and Kilgharrah both kept their gazes on her.

"My predecessor as High Priestess was Nimueh of Armorica, who was once a dear friend and trusted companion of Uther and Ygraine Pendragon. She helped him reclaim his father's throne from Vortigern and served as his chief advisor concerning all things magical. When the court physician of Camelot determined that there was nothing he could do to reverse Queen Ygraine's barrenness, she and her husband turned to Nimueh for help."

Morgause's lips twisted into something that was not quite a smile. "Nimueh agreed, for she was their friend and knew that the kingdom must have an heir. Yet Nimueh knew that there would be a price to pay. In order to create a life, she told her friends, another life must be taken."

Morgana sucked in a sharp breath. Beside her, Gwen's eyes went wide with shock. All around them, the crowd erupted into murmurs and whispers and gasps.

"Yes," Morgause said softly, bitterly, "Uther believes that it was Ygraine who paid for their son's life. Nimueh, though, had never been certain. There was a prisoner facing execution whom Uther chose as the sacrifice, and he died within an hour of the spell's casting. His death should have been enough. But then Ygraine died in childbed, as women do every day without magical intervention, and Uther in his wrath blamed magic for murdering his beloved wife.

"You know the rest: the Day of Pyres, the Twin Genocide, the trickery, the fall of this very isle. Rivers of blood and tears, all because of one man who could not accept a natural death.

"Tell the people, my kinsmen. Tell them what Uther has done, tell them the height and breadth and depth of his hypocrisy. Let the tale spread far and wide that we may be known as victims rather than provokers of the Butcher's wrath. Let the truth set us free."

Cool and poised and regal as a queen, Morgause strode back to her original position in the buzzing audience.

"This meeting is now adjourned for lunch and discussions," Merlin called. "We'll meet up again in one hour."

Morgana hadn't realized how late it was getting, but a glance at the sky revealed that it was already high noon. Sure enough, her stomach started gurgling for food.

Someone (probably a druid clan) had erected a table full of food immediately inside the visitors' residence. Morgana and Gwen filled their plates before retreating to the benches and tables that had been set up on the other side of the hall.

"Do you think it's true?" Gwen asked. "About Uther, I mean." She fiddled nervously with the strawberry in her hands.

"I think it must be," Morgana confessed. "It would explain a great deal, and Emrys and the other leaders thought it was an important enough story that they let Morgause tell it even though she had some downright insane ideas."

"It does sound like something Uther would do." Gwen took a bite of her sandwich. "Say, wasn't Emrys supposed to introduce you to some people today?"

"He is, but I think it'll have to wait until after lunch. He was stalking towards Morgause the second everyone was dismissed." Morgana met her friend's eyes. "She's the woman from my dream."

Gwen's eyes went wide. "You mean the one with the path?"

"Yes."

"So… that would mean she's Arthur's enemy, right?"

"Between the fact that they're standing on different paths and she wants to control his mind, probably. I'll need to warn Emrys about her after we've eaten."

They spent the rest of their meal chatting about inconsequential things, though of course magic was never far from their minds. When they were finished, they stepped back outside.

Merlin was talking with a very ordinary-looking old man. He glanced up when Morgana began to approach. "It's good to see you again. Morgana, this is Rodrik of the Vates. Rodrik, this is the lady I was just telling you about, and—" He fell silent then, apparently just noticing Gwen.

"She refused to be left behind," Morgana explained.

"Oh, how wonderful," breathed Rodrik, his eyes alight. He was beaming at Gwen as though she was the most amazing thing he'd seen in his life. "Justice _and_ Grace."

Morgana looked at Merlin, who gave a helpless little shrug.

"I'm Gwen, actually," said the equally nonplussed maid.

"Of course, of course." Rodrik bobbed his head up and down. "An honor to meet you, Gracious Gwen and Just Morgana."

"Right," Merlin muttered. "Ah, Rodrik, Morgana has visions in her sleep. You said that you could help her?"

"It is you who must help her, my lord, lest Justice warp into hateful Revenge. Her soul is in your keeping."

Judging from the look on Merlin's face, he was seriously regretting his decision to bring Rodrik, as opposed to literally anyone else, to talk with them. "Okay then. I'll do that. And also, I'm not a lord."

"See that you do, my lord, for once the full force of her magic awakens, she shall become a force of great good or great evil."

"What do you mean, 'once my full magic awakens'?" Morgana demanded.

"You are a witch," the Seer declared, his pale eyes fixed on her face. "Soon your power shall blossom, and all your enemies will quake in terror."

Morgana nodded, because there really wasn't much she could say to that.

"But can you help her with the dreams?" Merlin demanded.

"Visions of this sort are not meant to be controlled," the other man declared.

"So no then."

"Accept the magic," Rodrik instructed Morgana. "Accept it, and remember as much as you can about your visions. Remembering them makes it less likely that they will return."

That was probably the most concrete advice she would get from him, so Morgana smiled and nodded.

"I had no idea he'd be like that," Merlin confessed as the Vate meandered away. "I just asked for their best Seer, and then they gave me him. Oh, right." He extended a hand to Gwen. "I'm Emrys. Nice to meet you."

She shook his hand, mumbled the necessary phrases, and asked, "When he said that Lady Morgana was a witch…."

"I can try and train her," Merlin assured his friends, "or maybe I can find you a druid tutor. And I think I can get my hands on some spellbooks." He gave Morgana's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "After all, it's apparently my job to keep watch over your soul."

"What does that even mean?"

"Good question. Maybe we should ask Kilgharrah?"

"The dragon?" Gwen squeaked.

"No," Morgana said. "Not after the last person you introduced me to. Besides, don't you need to eat before the meeting starts again?"

Merlin started, but she was right. People were trickling out of the temporary mess hall, slowly making their way back to the hill. "You're right. I'll talk to you again after today's meetings are done. I promise."

She remembered then. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Morgause is the woman from my dream, the one standing against Arthur."

Worry flickered in those golden eyes. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for telling me."

Morgana watched him leave with a smile. If he was supposed to watch over her soul… then her soul was in very good hands.

* * *

Alternate Chapter Title: " _In Which Merlin Learns That There Truly Does Exist an Individual Even_ More _Cryptic Than Kilgharrah_ "

So Morgana seems to think that Merlin can teleport, but Merlin and Blaise did not teleport to the Isle. In my headcanon, you have to be able to visualize the place you're teleporting to. Also, Merlin has clearly not thought about Arthur's probable reaction to the truth of his birth, which his sorcerous minions are going to be spreading pretty much everywhere. (Also, why the heck didn't Nimueh or Morgause spread the word about that? I mean, seriously, what point did keeping it a secret serve?) And no, I don't know myself if Ygraine's death was natural or sacrificial, because Morgause is right about women dying in childbed.

Next chapter: June 17. Gwen's thoughts on the rest of the meeting, she and Morgana return to Camelot, and, if I have enough time, Balinor and Hunith can finally get married. Oh, yes, and there'll probably be some blatant villainy brewing.

The title of this fanfiction has not one, not two, but three meanings. One is obvious, one less so, and one a fair bit more obscure. Any guesses?

-Antares


	3. A Blessing and a Curse

Chapter III: A Blessing and a Curse

Gwen was privately convinced that Morgana was in shock, denial, or both about the other Seer's revelation that she was a witch.

The women had known for some time now that Morgana's dreams were prophetic in nature, that she was technically a spellbinder. Now, though, they knew that soon she would have other powers, showier and less easy to hide. And Gwen was knowledgeable enough to realize that as a witch, Morgana _would_ have to use her magic. Back when Gaius had been teaching Merlin, Arthur, and Leon about magic, Morgana had eavesdropped on their lessons and learned that witches and warlocks were physically incapable of not using magic. If they avoided casting spells in daylight, the old physician had explained, the built-up energy would escape while its source was sleeping.

Yet despite this fact, which Gwen knew Morgana had not forgotten, and despite the fact that they both lived in the heart of Camelot, her friend didn't seem particularly concerned. Didn't she realize that someone was bound to notice magic being used right under Uther's nose and that it would be extremely risky to interact with Emrys, a known spellbinder, long enough to teach her control? And then there was the fact that Morgana seemed very trusting of someone she'd only met a couple of times.

And what had Rodrik meant when he said that Morgana's soul was in Emrys's keeping?

With these thoughts and worries buzzing around in her head, Gwen had a hard time paying attention to the rest of the day's speeches. A lot of it had to do with creating safe houses and ways to avoid being exposed as a spellbinder or sympathizer, which she knew she ought to pay attention to what with Morgana being the former and her the latter, but her mind was full of the implications of Morgana being a witch in the heart of Camelot. Bad enough when her poor friend had only been a Seer. Now she was a burgeoning witch with much more noticeable powers who would be smuggling the person Uther hated more than any other into her presence on a regular basis so that he could train her in illegal activities.

After the last speech was over (some fellow called Tauren with a plan to rob the nobility and distribute the loot among spellbinders whose plan was politely rejected by Emrys and the other authorities), she and Morgana approached the blue-cloaked warlock. Emrys looked very young, Gwen realized with a start. Goodness, he looked like he was even younger than her.

"Ready to head home?" he asked them. His unusual yellow eyes were tired and far too old for his face. Gwen thought of the frequent references to illusion spells and wondered how old Emrys really was.

"Yes," Morgana said.

Emrys smiled slightly, nodded. "I'll have to take you back one by one, I'm afraid. I didn't learn teleportation until fairly recently and while I've managed to take one person with me, taking two is apparently exponentially more difficult."

"Anhora managed it," Morgana pointed out.

"Anhora is very experienced and very powerful."

"Why was he there anyways? I thought it would be you."

Emrys winced. "Morgause sort of cornered me."

The women winced back.

Emrys forced a smile. "But she's gone now, and I've got some good plans for the evening." The smile became considerably less forced. "But, Lady Morgana, when would you like to talk about your magic, now or later?"

"Later, I think," she admitted. "It's been a long day."

"That it has. Does Monday work for you? The meeting will be done then."

"Monday sounds perfect." She smiled at him. As always, it was lovely. "The evening, I think, after supper. You'll probably need at least a few hours to recover from the summit."

"Probably," the warlock sighed. "So, who first?"

Morgana chose to go with him first, then Gwen. Even if she hadn't known that Emrys was less experienced with teleportation than Anhora, she would have figured it out solely from this trip. The journey was oddly bumpy, and both she and her escort stumbled when they arrived back in the woods around Camelot.

"On Monday," Emrys said quietly, then incanted the spell that whirled him away.

"What did you think of the summit?" Morgana asked as she and her friend made their way toward the citadel.

Gwen tilted her head. "For one thing," she stated slowly, "I'm quite glad that Emrys is the one in charge and not, say, Morgause."

"I am too."

"And I think that he's raised a lot of very good points. You can't terrify people into liking you, you need to make a genuine effort to have a friendly relationship. I just wish that it wasn't necessary."

"It shouldn't be," Morgana growled. Her fists clenched, loosened. "Do you ever wonder what Camelot would be like if Uther never started the Purge?"

"Once, yes. You?"

"All the time."

"I'm sorry."

Morgana smiled sadly. "Thank you, Gwen."

They were almost at the walls. If she didn't ask now, she likely never would. "About you having magic—not just Seer magic, witch magic too—are you all right with that? Because I would be completely terrified by the implications. I _am_ completely terrified by the implications, and I'm not even the one in immediate danger."

Morgana thought for a moment before answering. "It's rather strange," she finally confessed, "but I'm not nearly as frightened as I thought I'd be. In some ways, it's actually a relief to know. But I think that this is because I have access to the magical community and because it looks like Arthur might actually end the Purge one day." She smiled.

They had to stop speaking then, for they had reached the gates. The women returned to Gwen's house in companionable silence. Once Morgana had changed back into her own clothes, they began a light, cheery conversation that had nothing to do with magic.

Sir Leon was waiting for them when they reached the citadel. "How was your day?" he asked.

"Good. Yours?"

"Slightly less good. You recall how the king hired those builders a few months back to chart and excavate the tunnels beneath the city?"

"I remember telling him how ridiculous it was," Morgana replied.

Leon's lips twitched. "I remember that too. But it would seem that you were wrong, my lady. The workers found a chamber filled to bursting with gold and gems and other treasures."

Gwen's brow furrowed. "But isn't that good news rather than 'slightly less good'?"

"Normally, yes," Leon sighed, "but it's full of booby traps. One of the men was killed by a poisonous dart, and Gaius is tending to three more as we speak."

"Are they going to be all right?" Gwen exclaimed, horrified.

"I think so, yes, but it's too early to know for certain."

Morgana and Gwen didn't need to speak. As one, they began walking towards the physician's chambers, Leon at their heels.

"It's a tomb, they think," the knight informed them. "No one is sure whose it is, though, and it's under guard until Gaius and Geoffrey can research potential traps."

"I didn't know there were tombs down there," Morgana said.

"No one did."

"Whose do you think it is?" Gwen wondered.

"Probably one of the ancient kings," Leon speculated.

"Or queens," Morgana retorted, pushing open the door to Gaius's chambers.

"Or queens," Leon agreed.

"What about queens?" the physician asked.

"The tomb," Gwen explained. "Do you need any help, Gaius?"

"Not unless you wanted to grind some herbs."

Gwen glided over to the mortar and pestle. Morgana made her way to the sleeping patient's bedside. "How is he?" the lady asked softly.

"He will recover."

Morgana smiled. "Good."

"Who do you think the tomb belongs to?" Leon asked.

Gaius hesitated, worry writ plain on his face. "I cannot say for certain," he confessed, "but the other workers mentioned a distinct raven motif in the funerary objects. I think that they might have stumbled upon the tomb of Cornelius Sigan."

* * *

"I've never heard of anything like that. Are you sure…?"

"Merlin," his mother replied, "we just spent the past half hour determining that I can, in fact, see through magical illusions."

"Which I don't think is supposed to be possible."

"That's what your father said," Hunith sighed. She swallowed hard.

Merlin noticed his mother's sudden nervousness. "It's going to be fine," he assured her, wondering if it was normal for women to become so anxious before their weddings. Her concern seemed a bit strange to him, what with her having already borne her husband-to-be one child and being pregnant with another, not to mention how she'd lived with him for months. "You'll be fine, Mother, and you look beautiful."

She was. Her hair, free from the head scarf that usually covered it, hung in a long braid down her back. Merlin had helped her weave forget-me-nots into her plait—not too many, since his mother didn't believe in going overboard, but enough to make her look younger than her years. Her dress was the same blue as the flowers, embroidered at the hem and bodice with green Celtic knots.

"I should have helped with the decorations," Hunith fretted, staring nervously out the window to the courtyard where Balinor and a few druids were putting the finishing touches on the venue.

"No, Mother. Father's in there, and he's not supposed to see you yet. So what do you think your ability to see through glamors means?"

Hunith raised an eyebrow at the clumsy change of subject but didn't comment. Instead, she replied, "I can only assume that it has something to do with my birth parents."

Merlin winced. "I suppose I could try to look up their record once I'm back in Camelot, but Gaius has probably already done that."

"He has, but perhaps you'll think of something that he didn't."

There was a knock on the door. Hunith paled, her hands fisting her dress, then smiled ruefully and approached.

"It's time," Iseldir said, smiling widely.

Merlin offered his mother his arm. "It's so hard to believe," she murmured. "I keep thinking that any moment now I'll wake up."

"But you won't," Merlin pointed out. "This is real, Mother. It's completely real."

Wonder lit her eyes. "I know," she breathed, "but still…."

At least she didn't seem nervous anymore.

Merlin and Hunith rounded the corner. The courtyard was full of flowers: roses, of course; carnations of every hue; delicate bluebells nodding in the gentle breeze; and forget-me-nots, more forget-me-nots than any other species. The wicker trellis at the courtyard's center was so covered in them that it was completely blue.

Balinor waited beneath that trellis. His face lit up when he saw Hunith. Her answering smile was just as brilliant.

There weren't many guests, of course. Balinor's family had been massacred, and he'd spent the subsequent years avoiding humanity. Hunith was not particularly popular back in Ealdor, and anyway she didn't trust any of her fellow villagers with Merlin's secret. The only villager whom she had invited was Will, and he was unable to make the occasion.

Most of the attendees were druids, namely the folk of Iseldir's clan who had helped Balinor find all these flowers. Lancelot was there as well, and of course Gaius wasn't about to miss his only niece's wedding. Uther had forbidden him from taking time off, reasoning that Camelot couldn't be spared its court physician for so long, but Merlin had teleported him earlier that evening. He couldn't stay long, he'd said—something about a tomb—but he could certainly find enough time for this. Then there was Kilgharrah, the last of Balinor's kin, watching with a smile in his golden eyes.

By now, mother and son had reached the trellis. Merlin released his mother's arm and stepped back as Balinor took her hand. Their smiles were shy and sweet, their eyes riveted on each other.

Merlin sniffled.

"Friends and kin," Iseldir intoned, "we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman through the ancient rite of handfasting. Is it your wish, Balinor, to become one with Hunith of Ealdor?"

"It is."

"Is it your wish, Hunith, to become one with Balinor Caledonensis?"

"It is."

Iseldir turned his gaze to the audience. "Do any here say nay?" he asked, and though he was as peaceful as all his people, there was something almost like a challenge in his voice.

No one said a word. Any idiot could see that Hunith and Balinor were completely besotted with each other.

(If he was very lucky, Merlin thought, he might have a love like theirs one day.)

Iseldir wrapped a length of blue ribbon around the couple's entwined hands. "With this garland," he proclaimed, "I do tie a knot, and by doing so, bind your hands and your hearts for all eternity."

Hunith's smile outshone the sun. Balinor's wasn't any dimmer. He lifted their hands to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss against her hand.

"I now pronounce you to be husband and wife."

They kissed, him leaning down, her stretching up, meeting in the middle for a moment of joy and promise. There were tears in their eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow.

"Hunith Caledonensis," Balinor murmured, and kissed her again.

* * *

This was his final opportunity.

Cedric had been in Camelot for almost a month now, scouting out the castle for his greatest heist ever. His original target had been the treasure vaults, but the man was an opportunist at heart. When he heard that there was a room full of gold and jewels that had just been discovered and hadn't yet been inventoried, he knew that he'd be an idiot to not change his target.

Sure, there was the minor matter of the tomb (supposedly of Cornelius Sigan, if the rumors could be believed) being booby-trapped. Well, Cedric could be cautious. He'd gotten the survivors drunk, had wheedled them into telling him where exactly they had been. So long as he didn't stray from their path, he was highly unlikely to set off any more traps. Just to be safe, he'd brought in a walking stick which he waved around in front of himself. If there were any strings or wires or whatever, the stave would catch them, activating the trap before Cedric was in range. Sometimes, he had discovered long ago, the simplest plans were the best.

Cedric would have preferred a bit more time, but his temporary job would end tomorrow when Prince Arthur's manservant returned. The boy, Merlin his name was, had originally been replaced by a painfully dull fellow called George, who had been wounded by a boar within a day. (Cedric had no idea why Arthur thought it was a good idea to go hunting boar with only a servant. Didn't he realize how dangerous that was? But he wasn't going to complain, as George's wound and his own quick actions in saving the servant's life had gotten him access to the prince and, more importantly, the prince's collection of keys.) After tomorrow, Cedric wouldn't have an excuse to hang around the castle, wouldn't be able to sneak off with Arthur's keys.

He also wouldn't be worked half to death by Arthur's ridiculous demands on his time. Merlin was either the best servant in the world or a bloody sorcerer. There was simply no other possible way that he could single-handedly complete all of Arthur's tasks _and_ assist the court physician. Cedric could only assume that the man didn't do it single-handedly, that he bribed someone to help him, but he couldn't for the life of him get anyone to admit to being Merlin's assistant. So he'd had to do everything all by himself, which meant that he was exceedingly relieved that his servitude ended tomorrow.

But the point was, this was Cedric's best opportunity to rob the tomb, and he certainly wasn't going to waste his chance.

Really, the whole heist was going off more easily than he had dared to hope. It had been child's play to swipe the key to this set of tunnels from Arthur's chambers without him noticing, and the guards were so easy to avoid that it was really rather pathetic. Honestly, he almost felt a bit sorry for the citizens of Camelot's castle, trusting as they did in an oblivious prince and Sullivan's incompetent staff. But it was good news for a professional thief. On the off-chance that this job didn't set him up for life, he would just come here whenever his funds were a bit low.

For some reason (probably the heavy-duty lock on the doorway to these tunnels and the tomb's reputation for deadly booby-traps), the entrance to Cornelius Sigan's burial chambers was completely unguarded. Cedric shook his head in mild disbelief but didn't stop to ponder his luck. Instead, he thought back to what the drunken laborers had told him. They'd made a beeline for the coffin, he recalled, diverting only slightly to avoid a pile of golden coins.

Slowly, cautiously, his walking stick held at the ready, Cedric entered the tomb.

He could see why people thought that this was Sigan's final resting place. There was a definite raven motif on the walls, in the shapes of the statues, and especially on the huge stone sarcophagus. In the flickering light of Cedric's torch, some of the birds looked almost alive. Their eyes glinted, their feathers ruffled as the shadows danced over them. It was an eerie effect, but one that Cedric mostly ignored. This was a tomb, the domain of the dead. He was the only thing here which breathed.

Still, he moved a bit more quickly now.

Rubies were lighter than gold and rarer, too. A fistful went into his sack, followed by an ivory sculpture (a raven, of course) and a golden mask. There were sapphires and pearls, emeralds and topaz, and Cedric took as many of them as he could carry.

Not even the legendary kings of far-off Aegyptus had this much treasure, he was sure of it.

It was silly to think that this tomb belonged to Sigan, downright preposterous. The man had been executed as a traitor. Why would a traitor be buried with so much wealth? Surely this was Bruta's tomb, or perhaps the tomb of Innogen his bride.

What if the ancient monarch had been buried with his crown?

He shouldn't do it. The coffin was doubtless booby-trapped, likely with something fatal. He had enough already. Then the treasure in his bag shimmered and he thought of how much Bruta Pendragon's crown could be worth and he was opening the tomb.

He didn't die. No traps were triggered. Nothing happened.

The withered husk before him wore no crown, but it had been buried with a prize almost as valuable. The diamond was huge, the size of a man's fist, the biggest he'd seen in his life. Even better, it was exquisitely cut and completely flawless. There was a bluish tint to the jewel, one which seemed to give it its own light.

The thief reached out towards the gem.

Blue light flashed.

Cedric's eyes turned black.

* * *

OH NO!

Guys, if there is a formatting issue or something, I apologize. For some reason, the site wouldn't let me upload my Word doc, so I copied and pasted it into something else that I already had uploaded.

Alternate chapter title: _"In Which Something Good Happens in Merlin's Life, So of Course Something Terrible Occurs Almost Immediately Thereafter"_

A lot of people had fantastic guesses about what the fic's title meant. The obvious meaning, as many of you deduced, is that _The King's Shadow_ refers to Uther's Purge, which casts a black shadow over all the land. The less obvious meaning is that it refers to Merlin, who works in darkness and follows the Once and Future King like a shadow. The third, well, you'll just have to wait and see.

Next update: July 8. Cornelius Sigan. 'Nuff said.

-Antares


	4. Possess and Dispossess

Chapter IV: Possess and Dispossess

His manservant was a spellbinder.

Well, Arthur rationalized, at least it was Cedric instead of Merlin.

Cedric's eyes were black, not the golden hue usually associated with magic. His clothing was black too, a well-cut ensemble complete with a cloak made of feathers. Raven, probably, or at least a crow.

"Where is it?" the spellbinder hissed. The invisible force keeping Arthur aloft tightened around his neck, rendering it harder to breathe. "Where is the Raven's Key?"

"I don't know," Arthur managed. He'd been aiming for a strong and clear tone, but his voice came out hoarse and choked. "I don't even know what it is!"

The grip loosened. Apparently the spellbinder believed him this time. Arthur wasn't certain how this was any different from his last three attempts at convincing him, but since this allowed him to breathe, he didn't waste time thinking about it.

"It is an artifact of immense magical power, meaning that it should be in your vile father's treasure vault. The inventory listed it. Yet when I reached to pick it up…." The supernatural suffocation resumed, tighter than ever. "…it was but an illusion."

Arthur's eyes bugged out, and not just because he was effectively being strangled.

The prince was lowered to the ground—still pinned by magic, unable to move, but at least he wasn't being held up by his throat anymore. Cedric stared at him, his head tilted slightly to the side. "You didn't know," he murmured. A smirk split his face. "You truly had no idea."

Arthur shook his head. He hadn't.

The smirk widened into a grin. "I wonder, were you robbed by one of my kin, or did one of your ancestors have the illusion commissioned?"

"Don't know," Arthur mumbled, hoping very much that it was the former and his father had just never mentioned it to him. His voice was a bit stronger. If he took a deep enough breath, perhaps he could call for the guards. But should he? Cedric was obviously powerful, doubtless strong enough to take on several guards, and there might not be any within earshot anyways.

Now would be an excellent time for one of Emrys's interventions.

The thought made Arthur scowl. He was the crown prince of Camelot, a knight and warrior, and he refused to spend the rest of his life relying on a bizarrely friendly warlock to constantly save his bacon.

If he could just get to his sword….

Arthur's eyes flickered to his desk, to the sheathed blade that lay upon it. Cedric had pinned him up right next to his bedroom window, so his weapon was on the other side of the room. Had he done that on purpose? More importantly, could Arthur somehow break free from his spell-induced paralysis, sprint across the room, unsheathe his blade, and wound Cedric badly that he wouldn't retaliate before the spellbinder could react? It didn't seem very likely. Cedric was powerful enough that Arthur couldn't even move, much less defeat the man.

So calling for the guards would probably just get good men killed, he couldn't save himself, and his self-appointed magical bodyguard was presumably sleeping like normal people did at this time of night. Arthur himself had been fast asleep until he'd awakened pinned to the wall, and he had no doubt that his competent knights were still snoozing. The point was that Arthur wouldn't be getting reinforcements anytime soon.

To buy himself time (because _surely_ he could think of a plan if he just had the time), Arthur asked, "What exactly is the Raven's Key?"

"The cornerstone of Camelot's magical defenses, and now the weapon of its destruction," Cedric replied, almost absently. He was clearly thinking hard about something. Perhaps, if he thought hard enough, his concentration would slip enough so that Arthur could move. So that meant that Arthur should probably remain quiet in the hopes that the spellbinder would forget about him. It wasn't exactly likely, but it was the only plan he had.

Now that he thought about it, Arthur was pretty certain that he'd heard of the Raven's Key before. Cornelius Sigan had made it, he recalled, back in the days when he and Bruta Pendragon had been as close as brothers. He had no idea what it was supposed to do, though maybe it had something to do with a door? That was a good use for something called the Raven's _Key,_ right?

Whatever it did, he really shouldn't let Cedric get ahold of it. Hell, he shouldn't let anyone get ahold of it if it could be used as the weapon of Camelot's destruction. Which begged the question of where, exactly, it was. Arthur very much wanted to believe that the weapons vault was an elaborate hoax that one of his more magic-friendly ancestors had commissioned as a decoy for thieves. Yet he was fairly certain that his father would have mentioned something like that. If Cedric was telling the truth about the vaults—which he probably was, or else he wouldn't have broken into Arthur's room—and Uther didn't know about it, then obviously some spellbinder had snuck in and absconded with a bunch of very powerful, potentially very dangerous weapons, including the supposed key to Camelot's destruction.

If Arthur made it out of this mess alive, he would really have to do something about that.

Was it his imagination, or were the invisible bands keeping him immobile starting to loosen? Arthur's eyes glanced once again at the sword. Maybe he should shout really loudly and hope that Cedric would be startled enough to drop his spell? Then again, with his luck, Cedric would probably just bang him against the wall until he lost consciousness.

His door opened, its hinges announcing the motion in a sharp squeak. As one, Arthur and Cedric turned.

Arthur didn't know who he had been expecting, but it definitely wasn't Morgana. His friend was dressed in a pale nightgown, the candle in her arms painting it a subtle gold.

Cedric's magic tightened around Arthur, slamming him once more into the wall. On the other side of the room, another tendril of invisible force grabbed Morgana, jerking her away from the threshold. The door swung shut behind her, leaving them locked in.

Morgana's eyes were wide with fright, but her voice only shook a little as she said, "I know you must despise Uther, Cedric. You have every right to. But assassinating Arthur isn't the way to bring magic back to Camelot."

The spellbinder looked downright amused, his lips curling in a sardonic grin. "I'm not here to liberate Camelot, girl." The grin changed from sardonic to demonic. "I'm here to destroy it."

Green eyes went wide with horror. "That's not the way either," Morgana told him, fear leaking into her voice. "Destroying Camelot won't make the other kingdoms accept magic. This will only hurt your people, not help them."

Was it just Arthur's imagination, or were his feet a couple inches closer to the ground? The pressure around his neck was certainly not as constricting as it had been earlier.

"You're acting under the assumption that I care what happens to the spellbinders of this age," Cedric sneered. There was dark amusement in his voice, as though he was privy to a hilarious private joke.

Morgana faltered. "Cedric," she began, but the man cut her off with a negligent wave of his hand.

"I am not Cedric," he announced. His voice was soft and dangerous like rotten ice above black water. "Cedric was a foolish thief, a petty little man whose greed led him to the tomb hidden within your catacombs." He stepped towards Morgana, eyes gleaming black. Across the room, Arthur's toes brushed the floor. " _My_ tomb."

"Your…?"

"Mine," Cedric—no, not Cedric, not at all—confirmed. "I am the Raven of Albion, the Master of the Tides, the Builder of Camelot. I am Cornelius Sigan."

Arthur bit his lip to keep from gasping. Morgana's sharp inhalation covered the almost inaudible noise of his first footstep.

Green eyes met blue. However frightened she was, Morgana recognized exactly what her foster brother was trying to do. Her lips pressed together in a thin line of determination. "But you built Camelot," she blurted, perfectly playing her role as the distraction.

"And how did Bruta Pendragon repay me?" Sigan growled. "He had me murdered, my body flung into an anonymous pit. The people of Camelot did nothing then, just as they did nothing when Uther Pendragon decided to murder my kin. Never trust a Pendragon, my lady. Treachery is in their blood."

Arthur scowled, nostrils flaring, but he wasn't stupid enough to comment. He would like to survive this, thank you very much.

"There are people who remember you," Morgana was saying, her gaze riveted on Sigan's stolen face. "Some people revere you, and many of the people who don't are still grateful for your work. The city is beautiful and strong, and the people who live here love it. I do."

Sigan appeared to be totally focused on her. That was good. This was the most dangerous part of the plan, for if the ancient spellbinder noticed motion from the corner of his eye….

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Arthur reached out and grasped his sword. He took three quick quiet steps backwards, just far enough that he wouldn't be caught in Sigan's peripheral vision, and padded towards the possessed man. He could do this. He stalked prey all the time, and he didn't have Merlin here to (deliberately, he was absolutely sure) alert his target to his presence. He could do this. Just a few more steps….

Any other time, Arthur would have been thoroughly ashamed of what he was about to do. Even now, he hated how dishonorable his plan was. But if Cedric—Sigan—saw him, then the ancient spellbinder would just pick him up with magic again. He and Morgana would both die, then Sigan would go on to destroy Camelot. Honor was important, yes, but Camelot was even more so.

In a single fluid motion, Arthur drew his sword and plunged it into Sigan's back.

The spellbinder dropped to his knees. Morgana fell as well, released from her invisible prison as Sigan's magic failed. Dark blood gurgled up where blade met flesh, soaking his shirt and dripping onto the floor.

Cornelius Sigan died again without a sound, a blue light leaving his body and disappearing.

All in all, it was extremely anticlimactic. This was supposedly one of the most powerful mages in history, and he'd been taken out in a single blow. Arthur supposed he shouldn't complain, as this way he wouldn't have to worry about an undead creature with the ability to possess people constantly attempting to destroy everything he cared about, but still. _Really._

Arthur could only suppose that Sigan's reputation had been exaggerated over the years.

"Do you really think that killed him?" Morgana asked, staring at the body with worry in her eyes.

Arthur looked at the enormous hole in Sigan's chest and nodded. "He looks dead to me."

"But he smiled, Arthur," Morgana protested. "You _impaled_ him and he smiled."

That was a tad disturbing, Arthur had to admit. "Maybe he went mad from being dead for so long?"

"Maybe." Morgana leaned over the body. Suddenly her eyes went wide. "A _raven_. Of course!" Her head snapped up. "This isn't over, Arthur." She spun on her heel, flinging his door open. "We need to talk with the guards, _now_. Gaius too."

"What?" Arthur was faintly incredulous. "Morgana, he's dead."

The lady was striding down the hall. Arthur scurried after her. "He's not dead," Morgana explained, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the prince was listening. "You killed his body, yes, but so did Bruta Pendragon. His spirit survived."

"…I'll get Sullivan and Leon. Can you get Gaius and Father and meet us in the council chamber?"

"Yes."

About ten minutes later, the four bleary-eyed men were sitting around the table listening to Arthur's story, with Morgana chiming in to clarify details. By the time they were through, nobody was sleepy anymore.

"Gaius," Uther began, "what are the odds that Sigan is still at large?"

"Quite high, I'm afraid," the physician sighed. "I obviously don't know much about immortality, much less how he obtained it, but if Cedric released him from his tomb, I doubt that killing the host body would stop him."

"And he could possess… anyone?"

"I'm afraid so, sire."

Uther's jaw worked for a long moment before he regained his capacity for speech. "You will need to research spirits, possession, Sigan, and anything else you think might help. Geoffrey will help you, as will your apprentice when he returns."

Arthur glanced at Morgana, who was watching the king and nodding slightly. No doubt she and Guinevere would volunteer to help.

"Is there a way to find out if someone is possessed?" Leon asked.

"Sigan's eyes were black," Arthur recalled. "Not all the time, but they would change colors whenever he was being particularly malevolent."

"Sullivan, have your guards on the lookout for black-eyed individuals," Uther ordered. "Gaius, is there any way to prevent possession?"

The physician frowned thoughtfully. "I cannot think of any offhand, but… perhaps a salt circle? Those are known to affect quite a few types of spirit." He grimaced. "The other preventative measures I can think of are all illegal." By which he meant magical.

"We'll have to organize a search come morning," Uther murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "For Sigan's new host, and for these missing artifacts." Scowling, his nostrils flared, he turned on Sullivan. "Care to explain why the Raven's Key is not in the vault?"

Arthur grimaced. There went his hope that there really was another secret weapons vault that his father had simply forgotten to mention. That meant that the artifacts really had been taken by a spellbinder.

"We don't know that Sigan was telling the truth, sire," Sullivan mumbled, not meeting his king's eyes. "Is it possible that he just didn't find it?"

Uther fixed the fool with a withering glare. Sullivan winced.

"Perhaps we could check the vault?" Leon interjected. Ever the peacekeeper, that one.

"An excellent idea, Sir Leon."

It turned out that Sigan had not, in fact, been lying about the absence of the Raven's Key. It, along with _every single other artifact_ that Arthur checked, had indeed been replaced by an illusory doppelganger that shimmered like water over a lake when touched.

Uther's face was grim and terrible as he rounded on the quaking Sullivan. "You are relieved of your duty as the captain of my guard. Leave this city by sunset, or I shall have you flogged."

"Yes, sire," the former guard squeaked, bowing low. He scrambled away, not daring to turn his back on the king until the door was between them. Then all was silent, save for Uther's furiously heavy breathing.

It was Gaius who finally dared to interrupt the quiet. "Someone will have to take an inventory, sire. Should I, or did you still want me to research Sigan?"

"Geoffrey will take the inventory," Uther growled. "Leon, you will _immediately_ assemble the guards and knights to begin your search. Inspect _every_ building, every cranny, every _hole in the ground_. Check the tunnels if you have to. I want these items found."

"As you command, sire."

"Morgana, Gaius, go back to sleep. You need to be well-rested for morning. Arthur, come with me."

Uther stomped through the halls, his face a thundercloud. Arthur followed, not daring to make a sound. It wasn't until they reached the eastern barracks that he spoke. "You woke briefly while the so-called Emrys healed you from the Questing Beast's bite, did you not?"

"I did," Arthur admitted, suddenly realizing why they were in this particular room. "It wasn't here, though, Father. This is simply where he returned me."

"What did it look like?"

Arthur frowned, trying to remember. "I was more focused on the unicorn, but… I think I was in a cave. It was dark and cool and damp, and I don't recall seeing a ceiling."

Uther was searching the room, lifting thin mattresses to ensure that nothing was hidden beneath them. Arthur began inspecting pillows, partly because it was something to do and partly because he was not particularly comfortable with the conversation. Uther knew that Emrys had saved his son from a wraith and the Questing Beast's bite, but Arthur hadn't told him about the Cave of Balor or the Tir-mors. He _especially_ hadn't mentioned the civil conversation that he and Emrys had conducted in this very room.

"You think that Emrys did this, Father?"

"No," Uther growled, "but I do believe that the warlock calling himself Emrys is responsible."

"Calling himself?" Arthur echoed.

"Never you mind," Uther snapped.

"I suppose he wouldn't use his real name," Arthur said, "unless of course he's a druid."

But the king was shaking his head. "That is not a name the druids give their children."

"Why not?"

Uther scowled. "There is nothing here," he groused. "I did not truly think so, but…."

"Why do you think that Emr—ah, the person calling himself Emrys was the thief?" Arthur asked. He knew his father well enough to realize that the subject had been changed, that he wouldn't get any more odd comments about his warlock's name.

"He demonstrated skill with illusions during his fight with the wraith, and he is clearly familiar with Camelot and with you. That sort of familiarity can only come from someone who has spent a great deal of time in the citadel, even within the castle itself." Uther's fists clenched. "That, and he is clearly working on a long-term plan. Perhaps he was behind Sigan's release."

"I doubt it, Father," Arthur said without thinking.

The king looked at him, one eyebrow quirked.

Arthur flushed. Emrys had told him his goal: he wanted Arthur to restore magic to Camelot and create peace between their peoples. Releasing an ancient warlock with a grudge would only hinder that goal. (Part of him noted with mild surprise that he believed Emrys's stated goals completely and filed that information away for further contemplation.)

But the prince couldn't say any of that. Instead, he mumbled, "Well, wouldn't Sigan have the Raven's Key, then?"

Uther considered a moment before nodding. "An excellent point, Arthur. If we're lucky, they'll cross paths and kill each other off."

Arthur spent the next few hours rounding up sleepy knights and searching the heart of the city (the guards would search the outskirts). They found nothing, though whether that was due to exhaustion or there being nothing to find Arthur didn't know. Perhaps Sigan had left Camelot or gone back to his tomb or passed on, and he doubted that Emrys (if it was Emrys who had done the stealing) was stupid enough to keep his loot in Camelot.

A couple hours after dawn, a breathless page informed him that the king required his presence immediately. Sighing heavily, Arthur told his men to carry on and made his way back to the small council chamber. One look at Uther's face told him that he had not been summoned to receive good news.

"What happened, Father?" he asked.

The king's face twitched. "It would seem," he growled out, "that Emrys has taken more than artifacts." Something flitted through his eyes, something that looked almost like fear, but it was quickly drowned by Uther's rage. "He has released the Great Dragon."

* * *

When I first saw "The Curse of Cornelius Sigan," I thought that the writers were introducing the Nimueh of Season 2: a powerful, ruthless, dangerous enemy, but this one could possess people and was interested in killing, like, everyone rather than just the Pendragons plus collateral. Then this ancient badass was defeated by a single spell and pretty much never mentioned again. This always annoyed me, so I decided to make Sigan this book's Big Bad.

I love how Arthur doesn't even question Morgana's presence (she had a dream and went to check on him) because that's pretty much what he does in canon whenever Merlin shows up in the nick of time.

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Uther Discovers that he has Somehow Managed to Lose not just Several Highly Important Artifacts but also an Enormous Honking Dragon (and it isn't even noon yet)"_

Next chapter: July 29. The fallout from this one and also Merlin's return. ("I've only been gone a few days and this is what I come back to?!")

-Antares


	5. Catching Up

Chapter V: Catching Up

"So what did I miss?"

Gaius's expression was one of eternal suffering. Merlin's cheeky grin faded. "All right, I noticed some odd activity on the way through the city, but since nothing seems to have burned to the ground, it can't possibly be as bad as you're making it seem."

Gaius raised his eyebrow. "You are never allowed to leave Camelot ever again."

"…What did Arthur do?"

"This actually wasn't Arthur's fault."

"That's excellent." Merlin paused, thought. "Wait. What exactly is 'this'?"

The physician groaned. "Those laborers Uther hired to excavate the tunnels found the tomb of Cornelius Sigan, whose spirit escaped by possessing the replacement for Arthur's replacement manservant, who apparently was really a thief. Arthur killed the host, but we think that Sigan's spirit escaped. Also, the king discovered that his weapons vault was practically empty and that Kilgharrah has escaped."

Merlin goggled at him with a slightly open mouth. "You're right. I should never leave Camelot again." The warlock lowered himself into a chair. "Do you know of any spells that can help me find Sigan?"

Gaius glared. "And then what, Merlin?" he demanded. "You'll attack one of the most powerful spellbinders in history—a spellbinder who is now a disembodied spirit who could, in fact, possess you—and see what happens?"

"It worked with Nimueh," he muttered.

Gaius smacked him on the back of the head. "We both know that much of your victory over Nimueh was luck, and from your descriptions, she wasn't exactly sane at the time of your battle. I obviously cannot say for certain, but from Arthur's descriptions, it doesn't sound as though Sigan is mad. Furious, yes, but not deranged. Not to mention that Nimueh, for all her power and skill, was still a living human being. Sigan is not. Killing his host might cause a setback in his plans, but what's to stop him from taking over his killer?" The physician shuddered. "And quite frankly, Merlin, the thought of Cornelius Sigan with all your power at his disposal is the stuff of nightmares."

Merlin nodded. He frightened himself sometimes, despite knowing that he tried so hard to use his magic for good. Sigan, though…. "I'll ask Kilgharrah if he knows how to prevent possession."

"Good," said Gaius.

"Do you know what Sigan was trying to do when he attacked Arthur?" Merlin asked. He frowned. "Actually, could you tell me a little bit more about that fight? Because I'm not quite certain how Arthur could have gotten the better of such a powerful spellbinder."

The physician explained. By the time he was finished, a worried frown had spread across Merlin's face. "You're right. That doesn't add up."

"It was actually the Lady Morgana who noticed this first."

Merlin grinned. "She would."

"Speaking of Morgana, she thinks that this is the meaning of one of her reoccurring dreams. For months now, she's been seeing two birds locked in battle, one as black as night and one brightly colored."

Merlin's eyes went wide. "I saw that vision too," he exclaimed. "Remember when I accidentally looked into the Crystal of Neahtid? I didn't get a very good look at either of them, but the black bird could definitely have been a raven." He frowned slightly. "Of course, I don't know what the other bird might be…."

Gaius looked at him.

"What?"

The physician's eyebrow quirked. He seemed torn between exasperation and amusement, a combination with which Merlin was very familiar. "Think about it, _Merlin_."

"Oh!" The warlock flushed.

Gaius smirked at him.

"I don't suppose Morgana saw which of us wins?"

"No, she didn't."

Merlin grimaced. "That's unfortunate. Um, what was that artifact that Sigan was looking for again?"

"The Raven's Key," Gaius answered promptly. "It transforms the statuary of Camelot into the wielder's personal army, nearly indestructible by mortal means, unable to tire and inhumanly strong."

"And how big is this army, exactly?"

"I'm not quite certain, honestly. Nobody knows how many gargoyles and other statues there are on the castle, and it's possible that the key's influence extends into the city proper. Hundreds, certainly. Perhaps over a thousand."

Merlin was suddenly very, very glad that he'd thought to empty the vaults. If Sigan had had an army of hundreds of powerful stone golems, there might not have been a Camelot for him to come back to.

"I'll really have to ask Kilgharrah if he knows anything," Merlin reiterated. How to avoid possession, how to guarantee that Sigan's spirit passed, how to possibly defeat an army of living stone, what sorts of protections he had on his hoard…. He should write a list. "Is there anything you want me to ask?"

"Many things. I'll need to write you a list. But most importantly, warn him to be careful. Uther will send out parties of knights to hunt him down now that he knows he's escaped. Dragonbinder might be broken, but all it takes to kill anyone is a single well-placed blow, and some of the smarter fighters might try to poison him."

"Okay. Am I supposed to help you research or will Arthur die unless I polish his boots?"

"He's been assigned another substitute manservant for now. You're needed for research."

"I bet he's thrilled," the warlock commented, a grin stretching his lips.

"I've actually been studying Cornelius Sigan since we first unearthed his tomb," Gaius stated, returning the subject to more serious matters.

"What did you find out?" Merlin asked, taking his guardian's hint.

"I've found that someone has either erased or hidden much of the information about him."

"You're joking."

"Would that I was." Gaius sighed. He looked tired. "Many of the tales I found were recorded decades after Sigan's death and were really more records of legends and rumors than facts. There is a list of his accomplishments dating from Bruta's reign, but we know nothing of what he was like as a man or why he and his king fell out."

Merlin's brow crinkled. "I thought that Bruta discovered that Sigan was plotting against him?"

"That is what the stories say," Gaius acknowledged, "but bedtime stories and fables about the futility of plotting against the king are hardly unbiased sources. You have to remember, Merlin, that winners write history. Losers often die before they can record their side of the story, and often their records are destroyed to make room for the narrative of triumph. Look at Camelot's records of the Purge if you don't believe me. Uther's forces burned as many books as spellbinders, and there are things of which people are forbidden to speak on pain of death."

Merlin almost asked what those things might be, then he thought better of it. "So you think that Bruta erased what really happened to make himself look better?"

"That, or some of Sigan's disciples destroyed it."

"What disciples?"

Gaius grimaced. "He must have had at least a few followers. Why else would a traitor to the crown be buried in such a spectacular tomb? It was full of treasure, Merlin, treasure that I suspect was left to attract potential hosts like Cedric."

"But wouldn't it have been easier if his disciples just hosted him themselves?"

"There's a difference between wanting someone to return and giving up your free will, body, and perhaps even life to facilitate that return."

"Good point," the warlock admitted, embarrassed.

"Of course," the physician grumbled, "this doesn't explain why those same disciples didn't just drag some random peasant down to the tomb and use him as a host." He scowled, glaring in frustration at the pile of books in front of him. "There's so much about this story that simply makes no sense, and so much to discover. I very much hope that Kilgharrah was in Camelot at the time and can untangle at least part of the conundrum."

Merlin's eyes widened slightly. He knew, of course, that the dragon was over a thousand years old, but it was far too easy to forget the implication of his friend's age. Perhaps he hadn't been born when the Trojans reached these shores, but he'd been alive for centuries when Julius Caesar landed in the east. He'd seen kingdoms rise and fall, the Romans come and go, wars break out and wane. Bruta, Boudicca, Hadrian, Macsen Wledig…. Kilgharrah had predated and outlasted them all. Merlin couldn't imagine living that long.

Gaius continued, "But what little information I have is disturbing. Sigan was probably the most powerful spellbinder of his day. He built Camelot. The protections he wove into the walls lasted almost a century, though I'll admit part of that was due to careful maintenance. He created a half-dozen artifacts of power and could mirror life and death, and the legends about him being able to control the tide are apparently true. There were those who whispered that his coming must surely be an ill omen, for a mage that powerful must surely be Emrys, who would come at the time of smoke and darkness."

"Glad that rumor's not true," Merlin muttered.

"As am I," his mentor agreed. "But enough of this, at least for a few minutes. How did the summit go?"

"It was eventful," the younger man admitted. "I told you about Morgause, right?"

"As did Morgana and Gwen, yes."

"She stopped causing trouble after the first day, but I'm fairly certain she's still plotting something. Most people are either furiously offended that a Pendragon is the Once and Future King or vindictively gleeful that Uther Pendragon's son is going to undo all his work. I think that the druids told the non-druids about the prophecies when they spread the word about this summit, because I honestly don't know how else everyone else would know so much. I mean, these prophecies aren't common knowledge, right?"

"They are among the druids and more educated spellbinders, but most of the rest of the world either never heard of them or has forgotten."

"But overall, I think that it went rather well. There's lots of people who are interested in demonstrating that magic can be a force for good, others are interested in training with my army, a few folk have offered safehouses, we had a lot of really good stories to help discredit the Purge, and some of them are staying behind on the Isle. Guess who they chose as the new Lord of the Isle?"

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Gaius said faintly, "but did you just tell me that you have your own army?"

The warlock flushed. "Well, it's actually Alator of the Catha's company of war wizards, but I call it mine because it's the army of my people and also because Alator sort of swore allegiance to me." Loudly and publically. While _kneeling_. It had been rather embarrassing, honestly, because Merlin most certainly wasn't lord of anything and would greatly appreciate it if people would stop treating him like he was.

"But this Alator is still the commander, right?"

"Of course."

"That's a relief," the older man sighed. "What else were you saying?"

"I said that some of the people are re-founding the city on the Isle of the Blessed, and they asked my parents to be its lord and lady because the original rulers were dragonlords like Father."

Gaius smiled. "That's wonderful, Merlin. Are they going to do it?"

"Yes. They have to get their things from Ealdor, of course, but, well, Mother never really felt at home there. Everyone started treating her better after Father showed up, but most of the villagers were cold to her for years." Just thinking about it made him grimace. "And anyways, this is her—their, I suppose—chance to do something truly good for the world. Have you ever heard of someone being able to see through glamors?"

"What?" Gaius asked, thrown by the unexpected change of topic.

"Mother can see through glamors," Merlin explained. "She's been seeing my real eyes on and off for years, but she always thought that that was just in her head. Then she could see through my Emrys disguise, so I made a few other illusions and she could see through them, too."

Gaius's forehead crinkled, his eyebrows bunching together. "I've never heard of such a thing. Are you sure there wasn't something wrong with your spells?"

"Positive," Merlin said. "I even asked some of the other spellbinders to cast glamors, and Mother could see through those as well."

"How strange," Gaius muttered. "Have you asked Kilgharrah?"

"Of course, but he's never heard of anything like it either."

Both eyebrows shot up at that. "He _hasn't_?"

"He hasn't," the younger man confirmed. "Mother thinks that her ability might have something to do with her birth parents, so I promised I'd look up the records of their trial."

"An excellent idea, but first we'll need to get back to researching Sigan." Gaius looked mournfully at the pile of books and records he had yet to open.

"I've got a few hours before my first lesson with Morgana," Merlin said, reaching for the first book.

"Actually, Morgana mentioned that she wanted to delay a week before beginning. With Sigan on the loose and the castle on such high alert, now is an especially dangerous time to practice magic."

"Good point," the warlock acknowledged, glancing at the books with new trepidation.

Sighing heavily, uncle and nephew went to work.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon was in a foul mood.

To be fair, so was most of the rest of the castle, not to mention quite a few townspeople and strangers passing through. The news about Sigan, the vault, and the giant bloody dragon had spread with alarming speed. They were still looking for a captain of the guard (Lancelot would have been wonderful, both because he was competent and honorable and because seeing him with Guinevere might knock some sense into Arthur), a tournament had been cancelled, Emrys hadn't shown up in the eastern barracks, Uther was angrier than he'd ever seen him, that blasted dragon and the treasures and Cornelius Sigan were gods knew where, almost a dozen people had been arrested (and had almost immediately escaped, for which Arthur was quietly grateful, because he very much doubted that they could have proved their innocence to his father now that the king was in such a mood), Merlin's insomnia was acting up, and now a man in Odin's employ had just tried to assassinate him, and he had to talk his father out of going to war.

This was one of those days when Arthur greatly envied Merlin his straightforward, uncomplicated life.

"Father," he said, trying hard to sound patient and reasonable, "we have no proof that Odin was behind this."

The king sneered. "Then who did?"

Arthur grimaced. He knew damn well that it was, in fact, King Odin who had sent the assassin. Everyone knew it. "I don't know," he lied, "but if Camelot goes to war, other kingdoms could accuse us of breaking the peace for spurious reasons. They would cease to trust us, which would cause diplomatic headaches for years to come."

"We have proof."

"You mean the assassin's coins? Father, he could have gotten those in a million other places. They're suspicious, yes, but the other kings won't view it as conclusive."

"He speaks the truth, sire," Gaius said cautiously. The physician had just finished cleaning the wound on Arthur's side. Merlin handed him a fistful of clean white bandages. "Any victory that Camelot might win would have a decidedly Pyrrhic feel."

"And what would you have me do?" Uther snarled. "Should I ignore the fact that Odin sent a man to murder my only son and heir, who was only saved by the lucky intervention of a pair of servants?"

"Close the border, perhaps?" Arthur suggested.

Merlin chuckled softly. Three pairs of eyes turned to glare at him. "Is there something you'd like to say, boy?" Uther ground out.

The manservant blanched. "Sort of. I was just thinking that maybe you should have the knights chase the dragon into King Odin's lands. I mean, think of the look on his _face_." He grinned.

The king's lips twitched into something suspiciously like a smile. "I ought to have made you the court jester," he muttered, but there was no heat in his voice. He returned his attention to Arthur. "I will decide what to do about Odin in the morning. In the meantime, Arthur, what news have you concerning our… other problems?"

The prince winced. "Three more people claim to have spotted the dragon—people other than the assassin, that is—but Sir Leon doesn't think that they're credible witnesses. I agree with him, they were completely hysterical. The guards you sent to Sweetspring have returned. They searched the village top to bottom, but they found no trace of the missing artifacts. We're still looking for a new head of the guard. Lastly, we've heard nothing from Cornelius Sigan. I truly believe that he's gone back to whatever afterlife he came from."

But Uther was shaking his head. "Until we receive definitive proof one way or the other, we have to assume that Sigan's spirit is still at large. Sorcerers are a canny, cunning breed. He could be biding his time until we lower our guard, or perhaps he too seeks out the missing artifacts, specifically the Raven's Key."

He had a point, Arthur had to admit. "I will make certain that the guards know to keep searching. Gaius, will this injury affect my ability to defend Camelot?"

"Not long," the physician assured him. "It looks worse than it actually is. You're a very lucky man, sire."

Just that morning, a man had come in claiming that he'd seen strange tracks in the forest, and perhaps they belonged to the dragon. Since they were barely an hour's ride away, Arthur had agreed to go with him to inspect the trail. The prince hadn't brought any knights or even Merlin, reasoning that he was just going to look at the tracks rather than actually attack the dragon. He had been in the stables when Merlin and Guinevere came bursting into the room, babbling about how his guide was really an assassin and was trying to lure him away to kill him. Arthur hadn't had a chance to respond before the man was on him with his knife bare. The servants had tackled him then, their combined weight knocking him off the prince. The fight had been short and brutal, ending when Arthur's horse kicked the man's head in. And when it was over, Arthur had come far too close to taking Guinevere into his arms and kissing her.

Somehow, the prince had realized on his way to the physician's chambers, somehow he'd gone and fallen in love with her. This was not good. Guinevere was clever and gentle, and he greatly valued the friendship they'd developed this last year, but if his father ever found out that the crown prince had come to love a servant girl…. Heads would roll, Arthur feared.

"I know I'm lucky, Gaius," he sighed. "I just wish that that luck extended to Camelot."

The physician's smile was sad. "So do the rest of us."

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which There is Much Talking and Not Much Action"_

It was syed's idea to have Balinor and Hunith stay on the Isle due to the dragonlord thing. Thanks, syed! :)

I don't really like this chapter, but, well, between the traveling and the guests and my sister's wedding last week, I'm mildly amazed that I actually managed to finish anything.

Merlin's reference to the Trojans comes from Geoffrey of Monmouth. The historical figures he thinks about are all real (except Sigan, of course).

Next update: August 12. Probably Morgana's magic lesson and/or a conversation between Arthur and Emrys.

-Antares


	6. Two Conversations

Chapter VI: Two Conversations

Kilgharrah shook his great head in mild disbelief. "You should not leave Camelot ever again, I fear."

"I wasn't really planning on it," Merlin returned dryly. "Not for this long, certainly. But can we talk about this?"

"Of course," the dragon replied, settling in for a long conversation.

It was Wednesday, two days after his return, three after Sigan's escape. Merlin had wanted to speak with his scaly friend right away, but between the paranoia and the need for research and the prisoners he'd had to free and send to the Isle and of course Arthur's endless list of chores, he'd barely had time to eat, much less sneak away to talk with an enormous golden lizard. But Wednesdays had been sheep-smuggling days, and Kilgharrah would be coming anyways, so he'd made himself stay awake and come out.

"I was not in Camelot when Sigan fell out with his king," Kilgharrah stated. "I was far to the north, in the lands that would belong to your family. I cannot tell you for a certainty what happened, but given the timing, I cannot but believe that their quarrel had something to do with Balor."

Merlin's brow crinkled. "Balor? Like the Cave of Balor?"

"Yes, he was named for the cave. Tell me, young warlock, have you ever wondered why Camelot's sigil is the dragon and why its ruling house's name means 'Chief Dragon'?"

The warlock frowned. "I always thought it was because the citadel was literally built by magic, and dragons are some of the most magical beings in creation."

"A reasonable assumption, but wrong. Bruta's father was a dragonlord, and he was the man's first trueborn son… yet when the dragonlord passed, Bruta did not inherit his father's voice."

"He had a bastard," Merlin realized, eyes going huge. The dragonlord gift went to the firstborn son regardless of his legitimacy, though it had been known to pass to a younger brother if the eldest died without issue.

"Yes, Balor's father Brynden. He was a simple farmer with no idea of the power in his blood. When the assassin came for him, he did not even try to use his magical gifts. He fought with a farmer's scythe instead, and though he was no match for a professional killer, he survived long enough for his pregnant wife to escape. She hid for a time in the Cave of Balor, with her sisters smuggling her food and news. When her son was born, she brought him north, to take refuge in the Celyddon."

Blue eyes widened to enormous proportions. "But that's where my father's family is from."

"So it is," Kilgharrah replied, amusement in his eyes. "Ganieda chose the name _Caledonensis_ for young Balor, and their line continues to this day."

"But… but if my ancestor and Bruta were brothers….."

"Fear not, young warlock. Bruta was the founder and first king of Camelot, and it is to Bruta's descendants that the crown belongs."

The tension drained out of Merlin's shoulders. "Thank the gods for that, then. But why do you think that this is connected to Sigan?"

"The timing, as I said," the dragon reminded him. "Brynden was slain at the start of summer. By the time the leaves turned, Cornelius Sigan was his king's prisoner. He was executed when the first snows fell."

"Do you think they were friends?" Merlin wondered.

"I doubt that they ever even met. However, it is quite likely that Sigan took offense to Bruta's assassination of another spellbinder—his own half-brother, no less—and made his opinions known. I believe that this was the catalyst of their enmity, the first of several worsening arguments that culminated in Sigan's arrest and death."

"That would explain why he wants to destroy the city he helped create," Merlin muttered. He signed heavily. "I have other questions, though."

"Perhaps I shall answer them."

"Don't you mean 'perhaps I _can_ answer them'?"

"Of course not," the dragon sniffed. "Any fool can answer a question and be wrong."

The warlock fought back another sigh. He was far too tired for Kilgharrah's word games. "Okay, then. If you insist. But questions. First, do you know of any way to prevent possession?"

"For certain creatures, yes. For a being like Sigan…." Kilgharrah trailed off with a scowl. "First, I must learn more of what he has become." The dragon tilted his head, considering. "Have you inquired with your druid tutor about this?"

"Not yet," the warlock admitted. "He was staying back on the Isle for a few days because it's been so long since he's seen his friends and family, and I had no idea that this sort of disaster would be waiting for us in Camelot." Though in retrospect….

Shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear it, Merlin continued, "What about tracking spirits? Do you know anything about tracking spirits?"

"Only what I have imparted to you."

Merlin frowned, thinking back to the things that Kilgharrah had taught him. "You mean those projection spells?"

Kilgharrah smiled.

Early in Merlin's stay in Camelot, he'd accidentally projected his spirit out of his body in order to save Arthur's life from a bunch of giant spiders. Kilgharrah had taught him how to control that particular ability after he leaned of it (and after detailing all the horrible ways something could have gone wrong). Merlin hadn't used the spells much—Lancelot and Arthur had both nearly died because Merlin couldn't defeat Sophia and Aulfric Tir-mor without his body—but he still remembered how to perform them, how in his disembodied state he could see through peoples' skin and bones to the life and power within. Those spells wouldn't be much good for fighting Sigan, but for _finding_ him….

That might work, he realized. At the very least it would be a start.

"Okay," he mumbled, for what felt like the millionth time that night. "But do you have anything else? Ideas about what he might be, where we could get more information on him, anything like that?"

"Merely a theory. If the myths are true, then Cornelius created his own new spell for immortality. This will not be written down in any book save his personal grimoire, which has most likely been lost to time. However, spells of this magnitude and duration require an anchor. Perhaps the anchor could present the key to your victory."

If Merlin hadn't been so tired, he probably would have thought of that himself. Blaise had taught him a bit about anchors, after all, though they hadn't truly focused on them. They really ought to rectify that. "I might be able to find that while I'm spirit walking."

They chatted for a few minutes more, but soon Merlin begged exhaustion and began making his way back to the physician's chambers. On the way, he thought about what he had learned. If Kilgharrah was right and the immortality spell had an anchor, then it was likely one of the things in Sigan's tomb. Cedric would have grabbed it, triggered the enchantment, and gotten himself possessed. Had Arthur had Cedric's body searched? Merlin couldn't recall. Did the anchor need to be in physical contact with the host for it to work, or could Sigan have hidden it somewhere and then carried on? Could he possess anyone he wanted now that Cedric was gone, or did all potential hosts have to touch the anchor?

Merlin really hoped that they did, but he had a sinking feeling that the old spellbinder's spirit was now free to roam. After all, when had protecting Camelot been easy?

* * *

Friday night, and Arthur was ready to give up. Hell, he should have given up days ago; getting more sleep would have made his life at least marginally more bearable (though in his defense, he was nowhere near as bad as Merlin, whom he'd caught unconscious and surrounded by armor just that morning). Sure, Sigan and that blasted dragon would still be at large (probably), and sure, he would still have faced an assassination attempt, but could have dealt with those much more efficiently if he'd been fully awake. So it was past time that he gave up waiting for his stupid warlock and went to bed, where he belonged at this hour of the evening.

So, naturally, it was only when he turned around to leave that he saw Emrys finally walking through the door.

Arthur jerked back, tightening his jaw to prevent a most un-princely yelp of surprise. "Nice of you to show up," he snapped automatically.

Now that the warlock had actually arrived, Arthur realized that he wasn't quite certain how to proceed. They'd interacted before, even held a brief conversation or two, but this was the first time that he had deliberately sought out a sorcerer—spellbinder, he reminded himself—for the express purpose of asking for magical aid, or at least for more knowledge about magic-related topics. Also, there was the fact that Emrys might have had something to do with the missing artifacts, and he would eventually have to confront the younger man about that. Best save that bit for the end, he supposed, but it seemed he'd likely have to make the rest up as he went along.

Emrys hunched defensively. "I was busy," the warlock muttered, "and I don't seem to recall making any arrangements to meet you here."

"We didn't," Arthur had to admit, "but the news about Cornelius Sigan—not to mention everything else—is all over Camelot, and I thought that you'd show up here sooner rather than later."

Emrys sighed, and Arthur realized just how tired the other youth looked. Black circles underscored his odd yellow eyes, which were duller and less alert than he'd ever seen them. "I know, and I probably should have been here earlier. I just didn't think of it until tonight. I'm sorry."

He looked sorry, too, which made this the first time in over twenty years that a spellbinder apologized to a Pendragon. Arthur tried not to think about that little fact, tried not to think about how what he was doing was a hundred different types of illegal and how his father would kill him if he ever found out. Emrys was like Gaius, he told himself, and anyways, if Sigan really was still running around, Camelot would need all the help it could get. He would just treat Emrys like he would any other retainer and feel guilty about breaking the law, betraying his father, and not caring nearly as much as he should later.

"Don't worry about it," the prince instructed, a bit more gently than before. "Now, er, what sort of progress have you made?"

Emrys gave him an odd look—he was probably nonplussed by how casual Arthur was being, like they did this every day over bread and cheese—but didn't comment. "I've been asking around about Sigan, and it turns out that nobody I've talked to knows how he made himself immortal. He would have created the spell himself, you see, but there aren't any surviving copies of his notes. However, the spell _probably_ involves the use of an anchor or vessel."

Arthur thought back to the things Gaius had taught him about magic. If he remembered correctly, anchors could, among other things, help stabilize spells and make them last longer. Sigan had lived centuries ago, so it made sense that he'd need an anchor.

"What would this anchor be?"

"I don't know," Emrys sighed. "I assume that it's a jewel of some sort or the thief wouldn't have tried to steal it."

That also made a great deal of sense. Arthur made a mental note to inventory the tomb.

"Of course," the warlock grumbled, "the anchor is likely heavily enchanted, possibly with more spells of Sigan's own making, and touching it might be a prerequisite for possession."

"Of course," Arthur groaned. Clearly, they'd have to do the inventory without touching anything. "Have you found out anything else about him?"

"I'm afraid not," the warlock admitted. "While I've discovered a bit of biographical information, I don't have much to say about his skills and abilities. Your court physician could tell you more."

"You know about Gaius's research?" Arthur asked, surprised.

Emrys smiled ruefully. "The spellbinder who gave up magic to serve Uther Pendragon seems like a logical choice for researching an ancient warlock."

"I suppose," Arthur admitted. He'd never thought about how magic users might perceive Gaius's loyalty. "But have you found where he is or if he's still around? Sigan, I mean."

"I'm hoping to learn that tonight," the warlock replied. "Him and his anchor."

"Through asking people or through…?"

"Through my magic," was the dry response.

"Of course, of course." That was probably better than Emrys having a spy network of sorts in the heart of Camelot, he supposed, but it also meant that he was essentially telling a subject of the crown to defy Uther's law. "That. Once you've found him—if you find him—send an anonymous tip to Sir Leon or myself, and we'll take a squadron of knights to apprehend him."

Emrys just stared at him. "You're going to take a bunch of knights in bright red cloaks and shiny chainmail to capture an ancient warlock whose known powers include possessing whoever the hell he wants and probably has a dozen other skills as well?"

"We'll knock him unconscious," Arthur said defensively.

"And then what?" Emrys had his hands on his hips, and his face bore a mulish cast that reminded the prince of Merlin. "Kill his host and hope he passes on with whatever poor sap he's possessing?"

Arthur couldn't suppress a grimace. That wasn't what had happened with Cedric, he reminded himself. That had been a matter of life and death, one that Sigan had entered willingly, and Cedric had been a criminal as well. This, though… he had to concede that Emrys might have a point. "We'll think of something. We can keep him drugged until we've found and destroyed the vessel. Unless you're willing to loan that sword of yours that kills dead things?"

The warlock's eyes widened to enormous proportions. "That's actually not a bad idea," he stated, looking far too surprised by the fact.

An entirely inappropriate sense of hopeful longing surged in Arthur's chest. He tried to quash them, reminding himself that even if he was certainly at least going to _look over_ the laws against magic (though he wouldn't necessarily do anything more), his father was still the king, and as such, Uther's word was law. He shouldn't _want_ the sword like he did, even if he'd coveted the thing since first laying eyes on it.

"Of course," Emrys continued, "I'm not certain how exactly Excalibur will affect him or the anchor. It will _probably_ destroy the anchor well enough, but I'll still need to ask Kilgharrah…."

Arthur should have asked about who Kilgharrah was and why Emrys didn't know something so important about his own magic sword, but what he said was, "Excalibur?"

"The sword's name," Emrys confirmed. "And it's technically yours, not mine."

Arthur's heart swelled with far too much enthusiasm. "How can it be mine if—wait." His eyes narrowed. "Did you take it from the weapons vault?"

"No, I bought it from a blacksmith and asked Kilgharrah to burnish it for you." He scowled slightly. "The original plan was to smuggle it to you so you could fight the wraith, then squirrel it away for safekeeping until you were king." The scowl deepened. "Believe you me, the last thing I wanted was to have to fight the wraith myself."

This was an excellent chance to segue into the topic of the weapons vault, but Arthur was becoming increasingly certain that he didn't want to know the answer to that mystery. Instead, he commented, "You're being awfully careless with your friend's name."

The scowl morphed into a grin. "Your father's already given orders that Kilgharrah must be slain on sight. Giving you his name won't endanger him any further." The grin widened into a smirk. "He's a dragon, you see."

"…a dragon."

"A dragon." Emrys was clearly enjoying himself.

Arthur had, like most other people in the castle, assumed that the dragon had escaped on its own. It had been down in a dank cave for decades; likely its chains had gotten rusty or something. Now, though…. "Emrys, how _exactly_ did the dragon escape?"

"I asked him to promise that he wouldn't hurt anyone, and then I broke the chains. That was quite some time ago, and to the best of my knowledge he's kept his promise."

"And you believed it?" Arthur squawked. "And how the hell did it even promise you, anyways?"

"Dragons talk," Emrys explained, laughter dancing in his eyes.

"No they don't," Arthur blurted.

"Have you ever even seen a dragon?"

"Well, no."

"Well, I have, and I say dragons can talk. But anyways, yes, I did release him, and I don't think it's a very good idea to go hunting him down. He's not going to start any fights, but he _will_ defend himself if some knight comes charging at him with a lance."

"By which you mean he'll set them on fire."

"Possibly," Emrys acquiesced, "though I suppose he could do something else."

This conversation was not doing much to reassure Arthur. "Where is the bloody thing?"

"He's safe, in the wilderness, minding his own business."

"And what about the things from the treasure vault?"

"Also safe, in the wilderness, and minding their own business. And before you say anything," he added, holding up a hand, "I didn't technically steal them. I'm giving them back to you when you're king, because hopefully you'll use them for things other than killing people like me."

Arthur closed his eyes and counted to ten. There was no way he could convince the impudent little bugger to give the artifacts back; he recognized sheer pigheadedness when he saw it, and it wasn't like he had any leverage over the youth. One day, perhaps, he could talk or trick him into disclosing their locations, but until then, he'd have to focus on more immediate battles. "Is the Raven's Key among the items you… _borrowed?_ "

"Yes," Emrys replied. At least he had the grace to look slightly (very, very slightly) embarrassed and ashamed.

"And is it in a place where Sigan can't find it?"

"Kilgharrah's guarding it," Emrys said.

Arthur's lips twitched at the thought of the spirit fighting the dragon before settling into a stern frown. "The dragon."

"Yes."

"You realize that any deaths that thing causes will be your fault entirely?"

Emrys grimaced, pursed his lips. "Would you feel better about him being free if you could meet him?"

Arthur's words died in his throat. His jaw hung slack as he goggled round-eyed at the lunatic in front of him. "You want me, the crown prince of Camelot, to go traipsing out with a spellbinder to talk with a bloody dragon in the dead of night?"

"…We could wait until daylight, I suppose."

Arthur continued to gape at him, because there was really nothing else he could do.

Emrys flushed a little. "Very well. Ah, sire, if you don't want to meet Kilgharrah tonight, perhaps you'd like to retrieve your sword?"

Compared to his last suggestion, that sounded perfectly reasonable. Still, Arthur hesitated. Sneak out of the castle with a known spellbinder to find a magic dragon sword that might be able to harm a spirit (and/or the object anchoring it to life) that might or might not still be on the loose. It was madness.

And yet, Emrys had saved his life.

Emrys wanted him on the throne, Arthur knew, because he wanted Arthur to restore magic to Camelot. He wanted an end to the bloodshed, which meant that he wouldn't kill the prince. Enchant him, possibly, but he could enchant him here in the barracks too.

Besides, he really wanted a closer look at that sword.

"Can we get there and back by dawn?"

A nod.

Arthur squared his shoulders and hoped he wasn't making a mistake. "Then let's go."

Emrys's smile could have outshone the sun.

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Merlin Spends His Evenings Chatting with Important Characters Instead of Sleeping in His Bed, Thereby Acquiring Sleep Deprivation"_

This book is a lot less episodic than last one. I personally think that's a good thing. As a result, though, it might end up shorter than _The Warlock's Quickening._ I honestly have no idea.

Next update: September 9. The nocturnal adventures of Merlin and Arthur, part two.

-Antares


	7. The Lady of the Lake

Chapter VII: The Lady of the Lake

Arthur Pendragon fell flat on his face.

Merlin, still in his guise as Emrys, fought back a grin, conveniently forgetting that he'd fallen over after his first teleportation too. Perhaps he should have warned the prince, but then again, it ought to have been obvious that he was chanting a teleportation spell. Unless, he realized, Arthur had thought that he was going to pull Excalibur out of thin air or something. Yes, he definitely should have warned him. But it was done, and all he could do now was offer a hand to help him up.

"Where are we?" Arthur demanded, gazing around the dark woods.

"We're in the forest outside Camelot, about ten minutes from the Lake of Avalon," Merlin explained. " _Leoht._ "

Arthur started slightly as the globe of light appeared, but he didn't comment. Instead, he queried, "The Lake of Avalon? That's just a legend."

"You've been there before," Merlin told him. "Think about it, sire. Have you ever been to an area where the land and sky and water all blur together and known that it was not a place for mortal men?"

Blue eyes went wide with realization. "Sophia and Aulfric brought me there."

"Yes." Merlin inclined his head.

The prince's brow furrowed in confusion. "But if it's not meant for mortal men, how did Merlin find it?"

In all honesty, Merlin really had no idea. He could only assume that it was one of the side effects of being Emrys and therefore ridiculously powerful, but it wasn't like he could just say that.

The warlock's hands tightened on his staff, but Arthur didn't notice. Merlin scrambled about mentally, searching desperately for an answer that wouldn't expose him. "…Perhaps it is because he was named for a bird."

Arthur pulled up short. "What?"

"Names are powerful things," the younger man improvised, hoping that he sounded wise and mysterious rather than nervous and confused.

Arthur gaped at him for a few more seconds, but he seemed to accept it. "But what about Sophia and Aulfric?"

"I'll explain on the way there," Merlin told him. "For now, though, hold this." He passed Beothaich over to his prince, who accepted the staff with an expression of vague befuddlement.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"Beothaich was originally created by the Sidhe, who can enter this world through the Lake. Its power will allow you to bypass the enchantments and access Avalon." Probably. He hoped.

"But won't that keep you from getting there?"

Why did Arthur have to pick _tonight_ of all nights to be perceptive and curious? Why couldn't he just be his usual trusting, rather gullible self? Merlin just wanted to go home and take a headache tonic and get some sleep. Was that really too much to ask? "I've had Beothaich a long time," he said, praying that this was the last question.

"Ah."

Arthur held the staff gingerly, but it seemed that Merlin's hypothesis that it would let him get to the lake held water. He wasn't stumbling or straying, though he seemed a bit paler than normal and his eyes flitted constantly.

As he had promised, Merlin told him the (slightly edited) tale of the Tir-mors. Arthur listened without comment, for which the warlock was grateful. He didn't know what he'd say if the prince asked how he'd found the lake without Beothaich.

"I heard you thank me, you know," he said as the lake came into view. "It gave me hope."

"It's beautiful," murmured the prince, completely ignoring his disguised manservant. Merlin would have been slightly offended by that if he hadn't understood completely.

The Lake of Avalon was lovely, just as it had always been lovely. As still as glass, its surface shone silver in the light of the waxing moon, save for where the dark shadows of trees stretched across the water or where white fingers of mist ghosted through the night. A few fireflies darted between the tendrils of mist, lending a bare hint of light and color to the scene. Without them, moonlight and night would have painted the scene entirely in white and black and shades of gray.

There was power here, too, a power which Merlin could feel humming in his veins, could almost hear whispering a welcome. His steps were lighter, more graceful, and even breathing was easier. Though it was night and the moon was nowhere near full, he had no fear of stumbling. He knew the location of every rock and twig and flower around him.

He could feel Arthur's life as well, Arthur, who had stopped in his tracks and was staring at his guide with an odd expression. Merlin quirked an eyebrow in question. Arthur forced a smile. "Nothing. You just look like you belong here, that's all."

"Thank you," Merlin murmured, not at all certain if that was a compliment.

"You're welcome, I suppose," said Arthur, who clearly didn't know either. "So… you threw my sword into the lake?"

When he put it like that, the whole thing sounded a bit ridiculous. "For protection, yes, but also to temper it and give it balance. Excalibur was reforged in dragon fire, and dragons are creatures of the air and the flame. The Sidhe can fly, but they're more beings of earth and water than anything else. The Lake of Avalon helped to balance Excalibur."

"I suppose that magic swords don't rust," Arthur stated.

"The sword will be fine, I promise," Merlin assured him.

Arthur frowned. "But if it's in the lake…."

Something broke the surface of the water and through the misty veil, a shadow across the silver pool. Water gushed down its sides, sending ripples across the lake that seemed to animate the reflections. The images curled and twisted, mist dancing with tree before stilling once again. Now fully emerged, the small wooden boat glided across the water until it was grounded at the shore.

"Shall we?" asked Merlin, wondering where the little boat had come from. He swung himself into the vessel, conjured a light to hang above the prow. The magic was easier than it should have been, even without word or gesture, and when he sat, he was not surprised to discover that the wood beneath him was completely dry.

"Why didn't you just have the boat here to begin with?" Arthur asked as he climbed into it. His eyes were very wide, the whites visible all the way around, and the hands gripping Beothaich were white with strain.

"It's not my boat," Merlin told him.

"It's not?" Arthur froze mid-step, one foot in the boat and one on land.

"It will bring us to where we need to go," Merlin said. He didn't know how he knew that, but know it he did. He felt the truth of the words in his bones. The boat would bring them to the blade. "Come in." He tugged at the prince's arm, helped him enter fully. (Their vessel didn't tip at all as they moved about within it. As with the dryness of the wood, Merlin was not surprised.)

Arthur and Merlin were silent as their vessel floated into deeper waters, Merlin enjoying the magic all around them and Arthur looking rather uncomfortable. Beothaich or no, he ought not be here, and he knew it.

The boat slowed, stopped. Something gathered in the air, a heaviness of anticipation. Mists swirled about them, like fingers grasping. Merlin directed his attention to the source of the surge, Arthur following his gaze.

A woman rose up from the water, her body and raiment dry as dust, a sword gleaming in her hands. She was as lovely as ever, slender and graceful, with golden curls and a golden gown. She was someone Merlin had never thought he would see again.

" _Sophia_?" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin's legs tensed as he shifted ever so slightly. The mortal king was under _his_ protection, and she would do well to remember that.

Sophia Tir-mor smiled ever so slightly. "Prince Arthur." She turned her gaze to Merlin, smile widening into a smirk. "Lord Emrys."

(Merlin would not deny it, not then, not there upon the Lake of Avalon. Later, he would wonder what that meant.)

"What are you doing here?" Arthur demanded, clutching Merlin's staff like he was preparing to hit her with it.

"Didn't your warlock tell you?" the Sidhe girl asked, one brow arched in question. "My father and I made a bargain with our kin. Your death would open the Gates of Avalon for me, restoring my immortality and ending my exile."

"You will not touch him," Merlin growled, shifting more obviously so that he stood between the prince and the lady.

Sophia tilted her head, honestly confused. "Why would I? Arthur Pendragon is mortal. He'll be dead within the century."

And Sophia was immortal, had been immortal for a long time. Merlin wondered how old she was. Apparently she was old enough that the thought of waiting decades for Arthur to age and die didn't distress her.

Wait. If Sophia was immortal, then maybe….

"Do you know anything about Cornelius Sigan?" Merlin asked. It was a long shot, yes, but he was starting to get desperate.

"I know that he can be destroyed by this," the immortal replied, looking down at the gleaming blade in her arms. The runes facing up seemed to shimmer with a light of their own. _Take me up,_ they bade. "Whether or not he will be, though, I know not." She stretched out her arms.

Arthur stood, his eyes riveted on the sword. "Excalibur," he murmured quietly, reverently, and stretched out his hand. For a moment he hesitated, his fingers _almost_ around the hilt, but then his gaze hardened and he wrapped his hand around the grip.

"You will do great things with this blade, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin whispered, and knew it for prophecy.

"Yes," Sophia agreed, "he will. But when Sigan has been defeated, Prince Arthur, you _must_ return Excalibur to Emrys. He will keep it safe for you until you ascend your thrones. And if you should perish, on this task or in the days to come, the sword must be returned to the Lake of Avalon. Will you swear it?"

"I swear it," Arthur vowed after only a moment's hesitation.

"Then so mote it be," Sophia said. There was a burbling sound, like a brook running over stones, and she sank down beneath the waves. No ripples marked her passage, and the mists flowed to fill the space where she had stood. If not for Excalibur, Merlin would never have known she was there.

Arthur did not notice. He was still fascinated by the sword in his hands. He gave it an experimental swing (over the water, fortunately, or there might have been problems. It was a small boat), rolled it over his wrist. A grin spread across his face, small at first but quickly widening. He slashed at the air, feinted, parried, stopped. When he looked up, his eyes were shining almost as brightly as the sword. "The balance is perfect," he declared, "and it just feels… it just feels _right_. Does that make any sense?"

"It does," Merlin assured him, picking Beothaich in his own hands. Arthur grinned again, ruefully this time, at the reminder that his companion also had a unique weapon, one crafted especially for him by the same magicks.

"It feels right," Arthur repeated, more quietly this time. "It's almost enough to make up for…."

The little boat had been moving while they talked, gliding so smoothly that its passengers had barely noticed. Now its hull scraped against the lake's bottom, the prow brushing up against the shore. Arthur and Merlin climbed out. The boat, relieved of its burden, sailed backwards into the mists.

"You're uncomfortable here," Merlin observed.

Arthur grimaced but did not deny it.

"I can bring you home in the same way we arrived," the warlock continued. "If you wish it, of course."

"I do," Arthur said, and shuddered. "Even with your magic, I don't understand how you can _stand_ this place."

Merlin beamed at him. Did Arthur realize what he had just done? Probably not. He was quite oblivious that way. But even if he didn't realize the significance of his answer, Merlin did.

 _"Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!"_

They arrived in the abandoned barracks. Arthur kept his feet; this time, it was Merlin who staggered and stumbled and would have fallen if the prince hadn't caught him. Away from the Lake of Avalon, his exhaustion from the last few days returned all at once. Suddenly it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

Arthur guided him to one of the cots. "Are you ill?" he asked.

"Just tired," Merlin confessed. "With all the spellbinders your father's been arresting, I haven't gotten much sleep."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," the prince muttered. "But for now, I assume you're too tired to do… whatever you were going to do to find Sigan?"

"No," Merlin had to admit. It was really all he could do to keep his eyes open. "It's dangerous to spirit walk when you're too tired."

"Right." Arthur nodded. "Er… when should we meet next?"

Merlin smiled. "I think I'll only have time to spirit walk tomorrow night."

"Why not in the day?" Arthur asked, obviously confused.

"Because I have a job," Merlin explained. At the prince's expression, he added, "Warlock or not, I _do_ need to eat."

The prince's brow only crinkled further. "But I thought you were a druid?"

Merlin touched the iron triskel that clasped his cloak. "I got this from the druids, and I frequently work with them, but I'm a man of Camelot."

Arthur's jaw sagged. "You live in the citadel?"

Oh, he really shouldn't have mentioned that. Gaius would flat-out kill him if he ever learned of it. Wincing and cursing his tiredness (because he was going to blame his exhaustion for his loosened tongue), the warlock admitted, "Yes. Don't bother looking for me, though. This face is an illusion."

Arthur just groaned softly. "Of course it is."

"So Sunday night, then?" the younger man asked, bringing them back onto the original topic. "Is two hours after sunset all right?"

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbed at his temples. "Two hours after sunset on Sunday. I suppose it works as well as anything else."

"Until then."

Merlin teleported directly onto his bed. That was a mistake, as it took far too much willpower to make himself get off it long enough to change out of his incriminating druid clothes. He wanted to sleep right there where he had collapsed, but somehow, he managed to hide the evidence of his nocturnal activities before curling up beneath his blankets.

But the exhaustion was worth it. Arthur had agreed to meet with a spellbinder, accepted a magical sword, even requested magical transportation. Admittedly, that magical transportation had been away from a powerfully magical lake, but the point remained that despite being awkward and uncomfortable, he hadn't been hostile at all towards Merlin-as-Emrys, a warlock and rebel. He'd been downright _accepting._

Merlin fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

"It's morning, sire," said a voice that did not belong to Merlin. "It's time for you to awaken."

Normally, Arthur would have rolled over and (tried to) go back to sleep. That day, though, he cracked open an eye. No, that was not Merlin. What was this fellow's name, and what was he doing here?

"Who're you?" the prince slurred.

"My name is Malcolm, sire," not-Merlin replied. "Your usual manservant is feeling ill, and I believe that the court physician drugged him into unconsciousness before he makes himself worse."

Arthur sighed. "Of course he has. You're familiar with your duties?"

"Yes, sire. Here is your breakfast." Malcolm-who-was-not-Merlin brandished the heavy plate in his hands. Mm, sausage.

Arthur pushed himself up, an order taking shape on his lips, when he froze. There, lying innocently across his desk, was a beautiful shining sword embellished with runes.

Excalibur.

"Oh, gods," he squeaked. It really _hadn't_ been a dream. He really had met up with a known warlock (who had confessed to about a thousand counts of treason in the hour they'd spent together), gone with him to a magic lake, and acquired a magical dragon sword from the sort-of ghost of a fairy woman who had once tried to use him as a human sacrifice. "I've lost my mind."

Malcolm didn't comment.

But mad or not, Arthur was a warrior at heart. He spent most of the day on the practice field, Excalibur singing in his hands. It felt like the sword made him stronger, lighter, faster. Perhaps it did—he didn't know much about dragon-forged blades, not to mention whatever the Lake of Avalon had done to it.

He made a mental note to ask Emrys about it. Emrys, who lived in Camelot and likely had been born there, whom Sophia had addressed as a lord. That was another good reason to spend time practicing with Excalibur. Without the distraction, he'd go even madder trying to figure out the warlock's identity.

Soon one day was over, then the next, with no sign of Cornelius Sigan. It had been well over a week, Arthur reflected as he climbed the stairs to the eastern barracks. It seemed that the ancient warlock was gone for good.

He said as much when Emrys confessed that he'd spent hours and hours searching Camelot and hadn't found any trace of the spirit. The spellbinder bit his lip, frowning. "Are you familiar with the Crystal of Neahtid?"

"I've never heard of it."

"It's one of the things that I'm going to return once you're king," the warlock explained. Before Arthur could express his indignation, he added, "But that's not important. What is important is what it can do. If a powerful enough spellbinder looks into its depths, he can see glimpses of the future. I had a vision of a raven locked in battle when I looked into it. A Seer friend of mine has had the same vision. Cornelius Sigan is still very much a threat to Camelot."

"If he was, he would have done something already," Arthur argued. "It's been over a week, and the only trouble we've had was an assassin. Cornelius Sigan isn't going to do anything. He can't. He's gone."

That was when the alarm bells started to ring.

Emrys arched a brow. "You were saying?"

* * *

Alternate chapter title: _"Wherein Arthur Totally Jinxes It"_

So why is Sophia the Lady of the Lake and not, you know, Freya? Because even by _Merlin_ standards, "random druidic were-catmonster dies, gains aquatic superpowers" is just bizarre and illogical. Sophia at least has a somewhat plausible reason to be stuck between worlds, and even better, this way I don't have to kill Freya. This IS a fix-it, you know. :)

Next update: September 30. We find out what's up with the bells, and poor Morgana probably STILL won't get her magic lesson. It's been a very eventful week in Camelot, you see.

-Antares


	8. The Knights of Medhir

Chapter 8: The Knights of Medhir

Merlin cast a spell as he and Arthur ran for the guardhouse. It was simply an illusion to hide his druid cloak and veil his stave, garbing him instead in the crimson of a guardsman of Camelot. Few enough people had gotten a good look at Emrys's face, and anyways, no one was paying attention to the random guard at Arthur's heels. It was the prince they watched, the prince they made way for.

Sir Leon had already gathered some of the guards. His head snapped up when Arthur entered, gaze flitting from the prince to the runner at his heels. His eyes went wide in recognition. That was right. He and "Emrys" had spoken briefly after the incident with the Questing Beast. "Arthur, that's—"

"Report, Sir Leon."

"But…."

" _Report_."

"The East Gate has fallen, sire. We're not sure who, but all things considered, it's possibly Cornelius Sigan."

Blue eyes met golden, and Merlin nodded sharply, his grip tightening on Beothaich. He ducked out of the room so nobody would see him cast the spell, because there was really no reason to advertise to anyone but Leon that a known warlock had been following Arthur tonight. " _Bedyrne mec! Astýre mec þanonweard_!"

The East Gate was broken, its hinges melted away. A half-dozen dead guards lay in puddles of blood. Merlin took a step towards the nearest fallen form, stopped, jumped back as a figure strode out of the shadows.

It was a human warrior clad in a tattered dark cloak, old scarred armor, and an equally old and scarred metal mask that cast his eyes in shadow. Something about him made Merlin's hair stand on end. "Who are you?" he demanded, clutching his staff tighter.

In reply, the masked man drew his sword, pale and slender and blotched with blood.

" _Swefne,_ " Merlin snapped, because he really needed to find Sigan before he took another gate.

The masked warrior kept going, completely unaffected by the warlock's spell. Fast as thought, he charged towards the warlock, who only managed to escape by slowing time.

" _Astrice,"_ Merlin spat. The warrior went flying, hit the city wall with enough force to knock a normal man unconscious. Yet, as was becoming increasingly obvious, this was not a normal man. Merlin wasn't quite certain what he was, but he knew that much.

The warrior wasn't even winded as he regained his feet. Still, he was more cautious than before, sizing Merlin up.

"Are you Cornelius Sigan?" the warlock asked. He doubted it. This enemy had used a sword rather than magic, and while there were certainly spellbinders who used conventional weapons, he and Gaius had found no evidence that Sigan had been one of them.

The masked man didn't reply. He shifted his weight forward, ready to charge at a moment's notice.

"Can you even understand me?" the warlock wondered. There was no response this time either.

Then the knight was on him again. Merlin used no words, simply grabbing him and levitating him, much as Sigan had done to Arthur when he revealed his presence. Another tendril of thought tossed aside the bloody sword, while a third stripped the knight's mask.

A skull stared back at him, its eyes empty, teeth exposed in a hideous grin, naked save for a few scraps of discolored skin and hair stretched taut across the yellowed bone. Merlin squeaked in shock and horror, his magic faltering. The undead creature landed gracefully, easily, and lunged for its former captor. Gauntleted fingers wrapped around Merlin's throat. Beothaich clattered to the ground.

" _Astrice,"_ the warlock choked. The spell propelled the knight backwards, but it didn't loosen its grip. Merlin slammed into the corpse warrior right after it hit the wall. That, thankfully, made it falter long enough for Merlin to kick himself away.

Time slowed as Merlin frantically reached through spells. He didn't know what this thing was, but it was obviously undead. Did he know any spells for killing undead things? No, though he probably should have researched that after Tristan—

Oh!

Smiling grimly, Merlin summoned Beothaich to his hands. The stave's crystal pulsed blue and gold. " _Acwele!_ "

A beam of dragon fire and Sidhe magic exploded out of the crystal. When it hit the undead warrior, the creature disintegrated into a cloud of dust and a few scraps of armor. Merlin allowed himself a grin of triumph and made a mental note to thank Kilgharrah profusely next time they saw each other. Then it was back to business.

This undead warrior, whatever it was, _hadn't_ been Cornelius Sigan. That meant that, assuming this attack was the other warlock's doing, the man in question was still running rampant in Camelot, wreaking havoc and ending lives. But where was he?

Merlin cast out his senses, searching for a source of powerful magic. Nothing. Either Sigan wasn't actively using his abilities or the man knew how to shield himself from detection.

He'd have to do this the old-fashioned way, then. Merlin conjured a globe of light to leave hovering at the gatehouse and jogged into Camelot, listening for the sound of screams.

* * *

Leon followed his prince and tried not to think about what he'd seen. It wasn't working.

Arthur had been fully clothed and wide awake when he'd come to the barracks, that bizarrely friendly warlock on his heels. He knew what it meant, of course: the prince and the spellbinder had been meeting together when the alarm bells went off. Somehow, Leon doubted that tonight was the first time they'd met.

Prince or not, he and Arthur were really going to have to talk about this.

But for now, he and his prince led a score of guards to the East Gate. There were bows and quivers on their backs in addition to the usual swords, for if what had happened to Arthur the night of Cedric's death was any indication, their only real chance at taking Sigan down was to surprise him, get in a few shots before he noticed. They needed to aim to wound, not kill, Arthur had proclaimed. We don't need another victim of possession to die.

They were about two-thirds of the way to the gate when they saw the enemy: six masked knights surrounding a man on a great black steed. His attire was as black as the stallion, and a cloak of raven feathers hung from his shoulders.

" _You_?" Arthur exclaimed, stunned.

Geoffrey of Monmouth's lips curled up in a smile, but it was obvious to everyone that Geoffrey was not the one smiling. "Hello, Arthur Pendragon."

It made sense, Leon reflected, so much sense that they really should have expected it. It was Geoffrey who had been sent to archive the weapons vault, Geoffrey who had received an 'urgent summons' from his family the moment he'd recorded all of Camelot's defenses against magic. Sigan wasn't just a powerful warlock, he was a cunning one as well, and that made him ten times as dangerous.

And he'd been quite dangerous before.

The two sides halted, the protectors of Camelot positioning themselves squarely between the intruders and the heart of the city. Hands grasped at sword hilts, but no one drew. Not yet.

"Geoffrey," Arthur said, "you need to fight him."

Sigan shrugged. "He's tried. It didn't work."

"Try again, Geoffrey," Arthur commanded. "You know us. You don't want to hurt us. You—"

" _Reord_ _ádumbe_ ," Sigan said, waving a negligent hand. Arthur's mouth continued to move, but no sound escaped his lips. The prince scowled.

"Who are your knights?" Leon asked, hoping to distract Sigan for just a few more moments. Behind him, the men were getting into position.

"They are the Knights of Medhir," Sigan answered, amused. "They cannot be killed. Knights, kill."

As one, the Knights of Medhir unsheathed their swords, charged toward Leon and his men. They were unnaturally fast, especially considering the fact that they were covered in full plate armor and iron masks. Leon barely had time to get into position before one of the knights was on him.

Steel clanged against steel as their swords met, and the battle was on.

Leon was a good fighter, quick and nimble, but it was all he could do to keep his masked opponent from landing a blow. Around him, the guards were attacking the other knights in small groups, but their blows had no effect on the invaders. As he whirled to dodge yet another swift attack, Leon noticed that one of the Knights of Medhir had a sword sticking out of his (its?) neck, yet the impalement didn't seem to have any effect. That knight was as quick and deadly as its fellows, despite the fact that it really ought to be dead.

The sight was a distraction that Leon could not afford. His opponent disarmed him, flinging away his sword. It raised its own blade for the killing blow.

Then it screamed as the shape beneath the metal burst into flames. Tongues of fire gushed out of the holes in its mask, out of joints in its plate armor. Without a body to hold it up, the now-red armor clattered to the ground.

"Oh," said Arthur, staring at his sword with enormous eyes.

Leon thought of a long-dead wraith and found himself warming up to the idea of Arthur meeting with Emrys.

"Cover me," the prince ordered, gesturing towards one of the other Knights of Medhir. It had defeated all its adversaries and was pulling its sword from one of the corpses. Leon charged it, Arthur on his heels. The creature lazily raised its blade to block Leon's strike but didn't bother to dodge Arthur's blow. It too died.

An idea struck. Leon sheathed his usual sword, grabbed the fallen knight's blade. It was crude and ugly and covered with a good man's blood, but perhaps it would affect the knights that hadn't yet fallen.

Arthur swore. Leon spun, looked _up_ towards the source of the noise. Sure enough, the prince was floating in midair, limbs flailing in a frantic attempt to beat off the chains that surrounded him. Within moments, Arthur's arms were pinned to his body.

Leon hesitated. Should he find some way of freeing his prince or should he test out his theory about the sword? Thankfully, Arthur solved the problem for him. As Sigan's magic hung the chains from a nearby building, the prince got enough leverage to use the plainly magical sword that Emrys must have given him. It cut through the chain slowly but surely, with a hideous shrieking noise that made even the Knights of Medhir flinch.

Leon took the opportunity to impale one. The undead warrior didn't burst into flames, much to his disappointment, but it made a pained little grunting noise and grabbed at its gut.

"Dragonsteel," observed Sigan, looking almost amused. "A gift from the boy claiming to be Ambrosius, I assume?"

Leon decapitated the wounded warrior. It collapsed, fingers twitching for a few moments before they went still.

Arthur paused his sawing, clearly befuddled. "Who?"

Leon handed the third dead knight's sword to one of the guardsmen who had been dueling it. The guard (Marcus?) nodded grimly as they turned towards the three undead fighters still standing.

"Another name for Emrys," the warlock explained. "Hasn't he told you about the prophecies?"

The _what_?

"Prophecies?" Arthur squawked.

"The Albion Cycle," Sigan informed him. "The Once and Future King."

"Never heard of it," Arthur grunted, resuming his efforts to escape. His sword slid through the last few millimeters of metal. He fell, landing squarely on his feet. "I'll have to ask."

But Sigan was shaking his stolen head. "Alas," he said, mock-mournfully, "you'll never get the chance." His eyes flooded black. _"Acwele!"_

* * *

Time slowed.

Merlin sprinted between his prince and the death spell. " _Gescildan,"_ he spat, conjuring a brilliantly golden shield.

Time sped up again. Sigan's curse slammed into Merlin's shield with enough force to make it bend and shudder, but the barrier held.

"You must be the latest claimant to the name Emrys," Sigan observed.

Merlin bared his teeth. "I am no mere _claimant_. Would you like to see me prove it?"

Sigan's only response was a negligent waving motion.

Acting on instinct, Merlin poured more energy into his shield. It was a good thing he did, for the force of this spell would have broken through otherwise.

The sardonic amusement faded from Sigan's stolen eyes. "You're powerful," he observed. "But are you powerful enough?"

Suddenly he was inside the shield, right there at Merlin's side. The younger warlock went flying backwards, colliding painfully with a building wall. Stars burst in his vision, but, thank all the gods, his hearing was unaffected. He heard Sigan's next spell and forced time to slow again long enough to roll out of its way. Still, even after dodging the ice spell, Merlin could feel the cold of the newly formed crystalline structure—a structure that would have imprisoned him if he hadn't moved.

" _Forbearne_ ," Merlin breathed, lashing out with a whip of fire. It collided with a dark shield, scalding but not breaking through. " _Astrice!"_

Sigan's shield broke, but it weakened Merlin's assault almost to the point of nonexistence. It barely ruffled the older warlock's raven-feather cloak, and even now he was stepping forward with a spell on his lips.

Merlin's eyes fixed on Beothaich, which he had dropped when Sigan sent him flying. The stave swiveled, catching Sigan's ankles and knocking him off his feet.

"You're good," Sigan observed, rolling to his feet. "Inspirational, in fact."

Chains wrapped around Merlin, the same chains that had recently bound Arthur. Teeth bared, Merlin caught it with his mind. His magic clashed with Sigan's.

The chains began to move apart.

Sigan's brow furrowed. Black flooded his stolen eyes.

Merlin's fists clenched, his eyes blazing gold. The chains crumbled into dust.

"Impressive," Sigan murmured, his face full of respect. "Perhaps you truly are him."

Then he was gone.

Merlin stood there panting, leaning heavily on Beothaich for support.

It was quiet, he realized, almost silent save for the sound of his breathing. The battle between the soldiers of Camelot and Sigan's undead knights was over, the enemies reduced to dust and scraps of armor, the defenders wounded or worse. The five non-royal men who remained conscious and capable of fighting—Leon and four guards—were looking back and forth between Merlin and Arthur, clearly wondering what their prince wanted them to do.

Cornelius Sigan staggered out of the shadows.

Merlin's exhaustion disappeared, drowning beneath a surge of energy. He spat a spell, conjuring chains to bind the older warlock.

"No!" Sigan yelped, and there was something very different about his tone.

"Sir Geoffrey?" Arthur asked, brow furrowed.

"Yes," the old man confirmed. "I'm not—he's gone."

The prince hesitated. "Can you tell?" he asked Merlin.

The warlock shook his head, gave a helpless little shrug. "Not without spirit-walking."

Arthur looked at his men, who were still torn between following his lead and destroying the evil magic user. Uncertainty was writ large upon his face.

Merlin felt a little bit sorry for him, actually. " _Swefne,"_ he incanted. Geoffrey collapsed. Arthur started forward, a protest on his lips, but Merlin hurriedly explained, "It's just a sleep spell, sire. If you'd prefer, I can look over him from elsewhere and send him back if he's really himself."

" _You want to kidnap my father's court genealogist_?"

Merlin blinked. He hadn't really thought about it that way. "…Actually, I just didn't want to leave him here in case he was still possessed and Sigan could switch hosts without his current vessel being conscious."

"If I may, Prince Arthur?"

The prince in question looked rather disproportionately grateful as he turned to his knight. "Yes, Sir Leon?"

"I think that if Sigan were capable of doing what… er… Emrys suggested, and if he was still possessing Sir Geoffrey, he would have already switched hosts from the old man to the young and powerful spellbinder who just held his own against him."

Merlin took several steps away from Geoffrey's unconscious form, face blanching. He hadn't thought of _that_ either. With a small smile of gratitude, he looked up at the knight.

And conjured a shield on pure instinct.

A quartet of arrows collided with the hastily erected barrier, breaking from their own momentum and clattering to the ground. Undeterred, the four guardsmen—men whom Merlin, Arthur, and even Leon obviously should have paid more attention to—knocked another round.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded.

"You're enchanted, sire," one grim guardsman explained, "you and Sir Leon both. Exterminating the sorcerer will save you."

His name was Donald. He wasn't exactly Merlin's friend, but they'd had pleasant, friendly interactions in the past, laughing together over the cook's ferocity. Now, though, there was no friendliness in his eyes, only simmering hatred.

"My light means he's safe," Merlin said, and fled.

* * *

"So," said Sir Leon, leaning against the wall of his cell, "what exactly happened tonight?"

Arthur winced. He'd really been hoping that the knight wouldn't ask that. "I set him on finding Sigan."

There was no need to explain who 'he' was.

"Ah."

"…It isn't like we meet up every night. He just showed up in the east barracks one evening, so I told him to meet me tonight to let me know if he'd found the bloody bastard. Then the alarms started ringing, so I let him follow me to find out what was going on."

"And the sword?"

"Excalibur?"

That was Arthur's consolation. His father might have thrown him (and Leon, and poor unconscious Geoffrey, who might still be possessed because Emrys hadn't sent his light yet. Arthur was getting rather worried about that) into the dungeons for interacting with a spellbinder (and, in Geoffrey's case, to make sure he wasn't still possessed), but somehow, the guards had missed Excalibur's power. Nobody had confiscated his sword. To the best of his knowledge, it was in Merlin's chambers awaiting polishing once his servant finished assisting Gaius with the wounded.

"If that's its name."

"…It's the sword he used against the wraith last year."

"Oh!" Leon's eyes went wide. "Because Sigan is undead."

"Yes."

"So—" the knight began, only to stop abruptly. Arthur followed Leon's gaze, was not surprised to see a glow emanating from the cell beside him.

"Is there a globe of light floating around Geoffrey's head?"

"There is."

"So he isn't possessed," Arthur muttered."

Leon met his gaze, eyes full of worry. "Then where the hell is Sigan?"

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Sir Leon is a Gift"_

Next update: October 21. Morgana's long-awaited magic lesson. Yay!

All of the spells except the one Sigan used to shut Arthur up are from the show.

-Antares


	9. Learning

Chapter IX: Learning

When he woke, it took Arthur a few moments to realize where he was, and then a few more moments to remember why, exactly, he was in the dungeons. Emrys, Sigan, Geoffrey. His father's rage that Arthur hadn't taken advantage of the Emrys's distraction after Sigan vanished to kill him, only partially assuaged when that one guardsman—Donald or Duncan or something—had timidly interjected that surely the prince and knight must have been enchanted. Then his awkward chat with Sir Leon and the revelation that Sigan had, indeed, gotten away.

Arthur was starting to get heartily sick of the man.

"Sire," a voice croaked.

"Sir Geoffrey," Arthur replied, allowing himself a tiny smile. "You're well?"

"Yes," the old man sighed, "or well enough, at least." He swallowed hard, the sound audible even with a wall between them. "Sire, when I was… controlled…. It wasn't equal, not by any means, but I could… sense, I suppose… sense some of his plans."

"Like what?" Leon asked, gazing intently into the cell beside Arthur's

"He wants to possess Emrys," was the flat response. "He was… he is extremely impressed with the boy's power. He thinks he might be real."

That was right, Arthur remembered. He hadn't heard all of the warlocks' conversation, having been slightly distracted by the undead abominations trying to kill him, but they'd been acting like Emrys was a title of some kind rather than a name. Emrys or Ambrosius or both.

The prince had no idea what "Emrys" might mean if it were a name rather than a title, but "Ambrosius" was Latin. If Arthur recalled correctly (and though he'd never been good with Latin, he thought he remembered this much, at least), it meant "immortal" or "divine."

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur asked.

Geoffrey was silent for a long moment. "I… I can't say."

"I think you can," Arthur retorted.

"No," the old man replied, "I _can't_ say." He swallowed again. "When your father outlawed magic, sire, he also outlawed discussion of certain magical things. Knowledge of spells, books on the topic, and… this. I cannot legally tell you what Sigan meant."

"But my father knows?" Arthur asked, remembering the king's stubborn insistence that his warlock only claimed to be Emrys.

"He knows," Geoffrey confirmed. "Those he condemned made sure of that."

"So I'll just have to ask him."

"If you do, sire, please, _please_ tell him that you're asking because of Sigan, not unless he's already put me to death for getting possessed." There was fear in his voice, and Arthur could imagine the fear on his face.

Arthur started. "Of course he won't," he protested automatically. "You could hardly help getting possessed, and besides, you've served Camelot well and truly for longer than he's been alive. He'll not persecute you for that."

Geoffrey's sigh was bleak and weary, that of an old man who had seen far much more than any foolish youth. "I hope you're right, my prince."

* * *

Merlin probably shouldn't be doing this, but he'd never let a silly thing like 'rules' slow him down before. The guilt he felt for taking advantage of Geoffrey's incarceration (why Uther felt the need to imprison the poor man, he had no idea) to break into the library and look up the records of his grandparents' trial was partly because he felt bad for the poor historian and partly because he really ought to be doing more about Sigan. Still, he told himself, he'd been looking at the Sigan problem for days and was no closer to learning anything, so maybe a brief break would be good for him.

Unfortunately, the trip was a complete waste of time. The only new detail he learned was that the knights had been to the west of the city when they'd stumbled upon two strangers levitating a bound, hooded, and unconscious Prince Uther further into the forest. Everything else was familiar: how his grandmother had been carrying baby Hunith on her back, how she and her husband had been beheaded for kidnapping a prince, how Gaius had given their infant to his childless brother Demetrius and sister-in-law Claudia to raise.

Well, the warlock supposed, that was _something,_ at least. There were a lot of magical sites to the west of the citadel: Gedref, the Isle of the Blessed, even the Lake of Avalon. Perhaps they'd been heading for one of those. Or perhaps the official story was right and they'd kidnapped a prince, albeit the youngest of three, for ransom. King Constantine would have paid handsomely for any of his sons, and Vortigern had been prowling around Camelot's borders, looking for weakness.

Merlin, like his mother and their family before him, had always believed that his blood grandparents had intended to ransom Uther, that there was nothing else they even _could_ have been doing. Certainly Niamh and Fergus had given no indication that they weren't trying to assure their daughter's future by selling Uther for obscene amounts of gold. But now Merlin and Hunith knew about her ability to see through illusions, an ability that might have come from them….

Oh. Merlin could have hit himself, the thought was so obvious. There was an easy way to see if Hunith's ability to see through illusions was hereditary. All he had to do was have someone cast an illusion and see if he could see through it.

Merlin made his way to the physician's chambers. Gaius knew how to cast illusions; he had been the one who changed Merlin's eyes from their natural gold to a more ordinary baby blue. To his disappointment, the chambers were already occupied by a heavily pregnant noblewoman.

Perhaps he could see through his own illusions? Merlin tilted his head, thought back to Blaise's lessons about glamor. He was reasonably certain that people weren't supposed to be able to see through their own spells, but he'd have to double-check.

The warlock entered his room, locking the door behind him, and murmured a spell. One of Arthur's dogs appeared in his room, staring at him with her head cocked. Merlin closed his eyes and thought about how his mother saw through illusions, how she focused on the truth.

When he opened his eyes, the dog was gone.

The spell was still active; he could feel its existence. He could even sort of see where the illusion was, for the air shimmered faintly where he had conjured the hound. Mother had mentioned that, too.

Merlin blinked, and the dog sprang back into his line of sight. He blinked again and it was gone, with only the faintest shimmer to mark its position.

Frowning thoughtfully, Merlin dissipated the spell. He was fairly certain that an incantation existed which allowed the caster to see through glamors, but he didn't know the words. Neither did his mother, and anyways, if this was traditional magic, shouldn't she have other abilities? Yet she didn't. As far as Merlin and Hunith knew, her the ability to see through glamors was her only power.

Except that wasn't quite true, Merlin realized. His mother had always had a sort of sixth sense, a very deep intuition. She knew who could be trusted and who couldn't, and her knack for knowing a baby's sex was downright uncanny. They'd always taken those things for granted, but maybe there was something more to it.

The warlock left his room, went into the physician's chambers. The pregnant noblewoman was gone, leaving Gaius alone with his herbs. "Gaius, people who cast illusion spells aren't supposed to be able to see through their glamors, right?"

"Not without the proper incantation."

"That's what I thought," Merlin sighed.

So the ability really was hereditary, meaning that one or both of his mother's parents had also possessed it.

Merlin thought again of what he'd learned, of how his grandparents had been bringing Uther to the west. It was entirely possible that they really were terrible, terrible slavers, but what if they'd been doing something magical, something related to their special ability?

"Gaius, can you think of any magical rituals that require a prince?"

The physician arched his famous eyebrow. "I can't think of anything offhand. Do I want to know why you're asking?"

"It's about Mother's birth parents," he explained.

Gaius leaned back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. "You think they took Uther for a ritual?"

"That, or they really were planning to ransom him. I can't think of anything else that makes sense."

"…We will have to research your theory after Sigan is dealt with."

"Or Mother and Father can research it on the Isle."

Gaius's lips quirked. "Or that. Good thinking, Merlin."

His ward grinned. "Thanks."

* * *

"You're fidgeting, Morgana."

"I most certainly am _not_."

"You most certainly are," Gwen replied.

Morgana huffed. "You're the one who's fidgeting."

"We both are," Gwen said in that hatefully reasonable tone of hers. "Of course we both are. It's not every day that we meet with the most wanted spellbinder in Camelot—and I'm fairly certain that I'm counting Cornelius Sigan as well—so he can teach you dangerously illegal magic right under Uther's nose."

"You have a point, but I'm still not fidgeting," Morgana insisted.

"If you say so," her friend sighed.

"I do," Morgana replied.

Gwen did not look entirely convinced, but someone knocking on the door cut off her retort. The two women exchanged wide-eyed glances before Morgana hurried over to the source of the noise, flinging open the door.

There was no one there.

The lady blinked into the dark hallway for a few moments, wondering if she'd been hearing things. She hoped not. She saw Merlin literally every day, considered herself one of his closest friends, so it would be really embarrassing if anticipating a meeting with him (even a rather unusual meeting) was _that_ stressful. Flushing slightly, she turned back into her room, closing the door behind her.

"Thanks," said Merlin-as-Emrys, shifting into visibility.

Morgana jumped, then blushed more brightly. That was right. Merlin could make himself invisible, and he'd already promised to not just teleport into her room. She felt like an idiot. Still, her voice was composed as she gestured to a table and said, "Please, take a seat."

"Thanks. Can I put up a muffling spell first, though?

"Of course," Morgana agreed, because the last thing she wanted was for someone to hear her learning magic.

Magic.

She'd known for quite some time that Merlin would be teaching her magic—honestly, it felt like months since she'd arranged this lesson with him—but suddenly, it seemed so much more real. She was going to learn something that would get her killed if the wrong person found out about it. Ward or not, she doubted that Uther would look kindly on her defection.

But what choice did she have? She could barely understand her dreams, much less stop them, and if she was a witch as well, her magic would eventually manifest whether or not she could control it. In the weeks between Morgana's discovery of Merlin's secret and the summit at the Isle of the Blessed, he'd told her enough about his own history to make her extremely leery of untrained, uncontrolled magic.

Morgana's fists clenched, the knuckles white. "What first?"

Merlin started slightly. Apparently he hadn't expected her to get right to the point. He really ought to have known better. "Well, the first thing you need to learn is _how_ magic works."

The warlock leaned back in his chair, his voice adopting an almost rhythmic cadence. "Essentially, human magic is a spellbinder's will made manifest. Human magic isn't the only kind there is, of course, but for now, it's the only type we need to worry about. When humans use magic, we reshape the world through our will and our power, which are mediated by our words."

"Spells," Morgana said.

"Yes, spells. In theory, we don't actually need them. In practice, though, no one has ever been able to perform all of their magic without speaking out loud. The ability to use magic without spells is dependent on a lot of things: practice with that particular act, power, skill, and experience. Once you've learned a bit more magic, I'll help you learn how to cast without speaking, but for now, we're going to focus on spells."

He reached down, pulled a heavy metal lock from the pouch at his waist. "Magic is one of those things that's often easier done than explained, especially at first. The spell to unlock this is _tospringe._ "

The lock clicked open.

Smiling slightly, Merlin pushed it closed. "When you cast a spell, you have to combine the word with the activation of your magic and a sort of state of mind. You need to determine that what you want to happen _will._ It's not the wanting, it's the determination that this is what's going to happen. Does that make sense?"

Morgana considered it. "You're saying that magic is a bit like Sir Cador."

"Who?"

"Sir Cador. My cousin was named for him. His king ordered him to retreat, but he decided that the battle would be won and positioned himself on a bridge to stave off the invaders. The other knights of Camelot were so inspired by his bravery that they joined in, and Camelot took the enemy king captive. He decided that Camelot would win, and so it did."

Merlin nodded slowly. "That sounds about right. Anhora once told me that a lot of magic is convincing the universe to see things your way."

"So you want me to try and convince the universe to open that lock?"

"Sort of, but not exactly." Merlin grimaced. "Like I said, it's easier done than said. That being said—" His face hardened as he fixed narrowed golden eyes on his pupil "—you _will_ open the lock tonight."

"Okay," Morgana hastily agreed.

Merlin grinned at her. "See? It's sort of like that, but without the intimidation."

"Would… would you compare it to a parent with children or a general with soldiers?" Gwen asked timidly.

Merlin considered. "Sort of, I suppose. It's more like parenting than commanding, though, or… or like a king in disguise making people do what he wants through the sheer force of his will."

"Okay," Morgana muttered. "I think I understand." She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly very dry. "What did you say the unlocking spell is again?"

" _Tospringe_."

" _Topspringe."_

"No, just _tospringe."_

" _Tospringe,_ " she repeated. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck, plastering hair to skin.

"That's right."

Morgana repeated the word a few more times, entirely because she wanted to memorize the pronunciation and not at all because she was suddenly very afraid. But then, after far too short a time, she could delay no longer. Screwing up her face in concentration, she told herself that the lock _would_ open, that all other outcomes were unacceptable. " _Tospringe_!"

Nothing happened.

Merlin wasn't concerned. "It usually takes a few tries."

"Right. _Tospringe_."

The word came more easily that time, like spitting it out even once made all the difference. The fear was a bit lighter, tinged with a hint of relief.

" _Tospringe. Tospringe. Tospringe."_

Morgana lost count of how many times she tried the spell. Fifty? A hundred? And all the while Merlin sat there looking completely unperturbed as sweat ran down her brow and the candles shrank almost to nothingness.

"I'll get more candles," Gwen volunteered.

"No need," said Merlin, conjuring that stupid globe of light without a single word.

Seeing him use magic so casually, so easily, make anger flare in Morgana's gut. She _would_ do this. " _Tospringe_!"

The lock exploded, half flying towards Merlin (who caught it automatically, probably a reflex from Arthur's goblet-throwing habit) and half colliding with the wall. Morgana jumped almost out of her skin, gawked at the broken lock in Merlin's hands with huge eyes.

Without a word, the warlock held it out to her. Hand trembling, the witch took it.

"So what changed?"

"Huh?"

"What helped you with the spell?" Merlin clarified.

She flushed. "I got angry."

"Ah." Merlin nodded. "Good thing I didn't start you out with a fire spell, then."

It wasn't a particularly funny joke, but it still made her laugh. A nervous laugh, yes, with perhaps a hint of disbelief, but a laugh nonetheless. Merlin and Gwen glanced at each other, clearly alarmed, and it was so much like their normal behavior that the lady laughed harder.

"Are you all right, Morgana?" Gwen asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.

"I just did magic in the heart of Camelot. I'm Uther Pendragon's ward, living in his home under his protection, and I just deliberately did something that can get me burned at the stake."

"So that's a no then," Merlin muttered, inspiring another round of giggles and a disapproving stare from Gwen. He hesitated a long moment, then began to speak in a soft and hesitant voice. "Look, Morgana, I know. I know. I've been through it, and while I can't tell you that the terror ever goes away completely, it does fade. With time, with practice, with exposure, with power, even with planning, it fades." His eyes went distant. "Besides, fear is the only reason we have courage."

"If you way so," she muttered. The laughter had drained away, leaving her strangely empty inside. She'd really truly done it. There was no more wondering if Rodrik had made a mistake, no more halfhearted denial. "So… what now?" She gestured at the broken lock. "I don't think we can keep using it."

Gwen examined the larger half. "No. It's completely ruined. Unless Emrys knows a lock-fixing spell, of course."

"I don't." He leaned back, a frown on his lips. "We could either quit the lesson or work on another minor spell. Any preferences?"

Morgana considered. Her first impulse was scrying, but Merlin had taken months to master the art, and he'd already been powerful and skilled. Levitation felt like it would require too much finesse if she didn't want the levitated object to shoot through the ceiling. "What spells do you use most?" she finally asked.

Now it was Merlin's turn to think. "Well, I'm quite fond of levitation, but that's just a little advanced for a first lesson. Spirit walking and scrying take forever. Same with teleportation. Most combat magic is a bit dangerous for—oh! How about a shield spell?"

"You mean that energy barrier?"

"Yes."

Morgana thought of the insane misfortunes that plagued Camelot (sometimes literally) roughly once a week. "Sounds useful."

"The basic spell is _scildan._ For a stronger shield, you can use _gescildan_ , but for now, let's just stick with basics."

Eventually, she managed to produce a small, rather pathetic shield, just a flicker of color in the air. It had been green, Morgana thought, green like pine trees at midnight, but it hadn't been around long enough for her to tell for sure.

"Good job," Merlin said, rising to his feet.

"Not really," Morgana grumbled.

"Considering that this is your first time ever using magic and you made _two_ spells work, I'd say you did well." Merlin smiled. "And since I'm the teacher, you have to listen to me."

"…Thank you."

There was something very soft in his eyes, something she couldn't really identify. "You're very welcome. Practice the shield spell when you can and I'll come again next week, all right?"

"I'm looking forward to it," Morgana said, and was surprised to realize that it was true. Dangerous as it was, she wanted to learn, wanted to explore this new side of herself, even though she was afraid.

Merlin's smile was different, full of the same softness that warmed his golden eyes. "I am too."

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Morgana Finally, At Long Last, Actually Gets the Magic Lesson She Was Supposed to Get, Like, a Really Long Time Ago"_

Next update: November 11. Uther has a plan.

So, guesses about Hunith's blood parents? Is it too obvious what's going on with them? Also, they got their names because I like the name Niamh and because "Fergus" apparently means "man with energy." The name "Demetrius" is a reference to Geoffrey of Monmouth's _History,_ where Merlin's maternal grandfather is the king of Demetria. "Claudia" is just a Roman name that I picked for the heck of it.

-Antares


	10. Beneath the Floorboard

Chapter X: Beneath the Floorboard

The day after her lady's first magic lesson, Gwen took Morgana on a ride in the woods. They didn't stray far from the castle walls, but even so, their isolation let them speak in private.

"Are you certain you're all right with this?" the maid asked her mistress.

Morgana hesitated for a long moment, her gaze distant. "I think so. At the very least, I'm handling it better than I'd expected." She frowned, tilting her head. "Are you?"

"I'm worried, that's all," Gwen confessed, "and that's more the treason bit than the magic."

"It's not like I have a choice," Morgana reminded her. "Witches are born, not made."

"I know that," Gwen sighed. "I don't think I'll stop worrying about you until magic is legal again."

Because Arthur _would_ legalize magic, she knew that now. He had grown so much in the last year or so, and there was no doubt in Gwen's mind that he would be one of the greatest kings that Camelot had ever known—and she wasn't being biased about that because she had stupidly gone and fallen in love with him. If anything, she had stupidly gone and fallen in love with him _because_ he had the sort of personality that would also make him a great king.

Not that that made her emotions less foolish.

Forcing aside her maudlin thoughts, Gwen continued, "Because I truly do believe that it will be, Morgana. It's just that I don't know when."

"I don't either," Morgana sighed. "I wish I did."

"So do I."

"What about you?" Morgana asked suddenly. "I've sort of dragged you into this, Gwen."

"I seem to recall forcing my way into the summit," her friend reminded her.

"And I seem to recall dragging you into my dreams."

Gwen looked away. "Not really. When you told me that you were afraid your dreams were magical…. I had already noticed that they had an uncanny knack of coming true. I don't know when I first saw it, but I didn't say anything because I wanted to be wrong, because we'd both be so much safer if they weren't."

"But it still frightens you," her friend sighed.

"The law frightens me, not the magic. Not you." A teasing smile. "Not when you can't even properly unlock anything."

Morgana smiled back. "You know, one day I'll probably be able to turn you into a toad."

"When we're old and gray, perhaps."

Morgana opened her mouth, no doubt preparing a sarcastic retort, when the sound of another set of hoofbeats cut her off. The lady and her servant turned, wondering who else was taking a ride outside the city walls.

 _Oh, no._

Morgause was dressed in men's clothing, her hair tied back in a thick braid. She was riding towards and looking directly at them.

Why couldn't it have been bandits?

Gwen hesitated. Should they run? They should probably run. After all, Morgause wanted to take control of every royal heir on the island, so she wasn't exactly the scrupulous sort of spellbinder. They really should run, Gwen decided, but Morgana already had that stubborn look on her face as she wheeled her mare around to face the incoming priestess.

"Morgause."

Brown eyes widened in surprise. "You know me?" she asked.

"We were at the summit," Morgana replied, steel in her voice.

In the privacy of her mind, Gwen cursed her friend's recklessness. _Why_ would she give that away?

At least Morgause wasn't attacking or casting any mind-control spells (not that Gwen knew what mind-control spells looked like, but she was quite certain that they would involve incantations. She'd been at Morgana's magic lesson too, after all) or anything like that. Instead, she was goggling at Morgana. "You were there?"

"Yes," Morgana confirmed. "Emrys invited me."

Gwen was starting to think that her friend _wanted_ to get them killed, or mind-controlled, or whatever Morgause was planning.

"I had no idea," Morgause confessed, plainly taken aback. She frowned, considered, gave a little nod of conviction. "If you were at the summit, then you know part of who I am."

"You're the last High Priestess of the Old Religion," Morgana replied. "You want to enchant one of my dearest friends, a man who might as well be my brother, to make him do your bidding."

"I want to guarantee the safety of my people," Morgause retorted. " _Our_ people, Morgana. Our mother's people."

Morgana went white. "What?"

"Vivienne was my mother too," Morgause said, very quietly. "We're sisters, Morgana."

"I—you're lying." The color returned to Morgana's face as her cheeks reddened with rage.

"I am _not_ ," Morgause replied, "and I think you know it, sister."

" _Don't_ call me that."

"Why should I not call you what you are?"

"Because I don't have any siblings." Morgana wheeled her horse around, began to make her way back to the gates. Gwen followed. So did the other woman.

"I am a bastard," Morgause said softly.

Morgana whirled around, face furious. "And now you're accusing my mother of cheating on my father?"

"No," said Morgause, "I'm older than you. She took a lover before her wedding, as many priestesses do, and I was born from their union."

"How convenient for you," Morgana sneered.

"It was not," Morgause replied. "I was separated from her at birth, given to the High Priestesses of the Old Religion, with no proof of my heritage except this bracelet." She reached into her saddlebag, withdrawing a silvery circlet. "I am told that it is one of a set."

Morgana glanced over, her face full of disdain, undoubtedly preparing a rude comeback. Then she saw the bracelet. Her eyes went wide.

Gwen shifted in her saddle for a better look. The pattern was a familiar one, all curves and whorls and knots. Morgana had one just like it, one she had inherited from her mother, one that was part of a set.

"You're lying," the lady repeated, but there was doubt in her voice.

"Why would I lie to you?"

(They looked rather similar, Gwen realized. Dread curdled in the pit of her belly. They looked like they could be sisters.)

"Because… because you want a way to access the castle. You want to use me to hurt Arthur. I _won't_."

"I _want_ to know my sister," Morgause corrected her. "I want to teach her about magic and, yes, I want to free our people as well."

"By using me."

"And go against our lord's direct orders?" Morgause shook her head. "I am no fool, sister. I am perfectly aware that Emrys is watching his prince. I'd have to make my way past him to enchant Arthur, and—"

"And that's why you want to use me," Morgana interrupted, grabbing hold of the theory like a drowning woman would reach for the shore. "Because he trusts me around Arthur."

Brown eyes widened. "You know who he truly is."

They were almost at the gates by now. Morgana dug in her heels, spurring her mount into a trot. Gwen and Morgause followed suit.

The maid was frowning. Who Emrys really was…. What was that supposed to mean? Was she saying that Emrys wasn't Emrys?

Oh. Gwen flushed slightly at the obviousness. Of course Emrys wasn't prancing around using his real name and his real face, blatantly performing magic and practically daring Uther to hunt him down. Which meant that she didn't really know what he looked like, which meant that he could be anyone.

 _Anyone_.

Except Morgause thought that Morgana knew who he was, which would certainly explain why the lady was so comfortable around him, why she trusted a stranger so much. But that meant that Emrys was someone that they both knew, for Gwen was at least familiar with practically everyone Morgana had ever met. So who did she know who sympathized with magic and thought Arthur would be the greatest king of all?

The answer was obvious, immediate, and so surprising that Gwen nearly fell off her horse.

They were at the gates now. Morgana rode inside, her companions right behind her. Apparently Morgause wasn't discouraged by the fact that she was now a spellbinder in Camelot, surrounded by guards made paranoid by Cornelius Sigan and the king's rage (not to mention the dragon) and completely without backup. She was powerful, then, strong enough to not fear Uther's laws.

Gwen bit her lip. If Morgause wanted to do something, then she wouldn't be able to stop her. Yet she didn't want to leave, to get the person who could stop her, because that would mean abandoning Morgana. Except it wasn't really abandonment if it was going for help, and surely Morgause wouldn't enchant Morgana in broad daylight in the middle of the city. But if Gwen didn't think the spellbinder would try anything, there was no point in running for help, which would mean abandoning her dearest friend…. And she could probably go on forever with arguments and counterarguments, but she really ought to make up her mind before Morgause remembered she existed. The spellbinder was focused on the lady now, but that could change at any moment.

Swallowing hard, praying that this was the right decision, Gwen headed for the castle.

Even on horseback, the journey felt like it took forever. Had there always been so many people gallivanting through the streets and getting in her way? Were they actively _trying_ to delay her?

Finally, finally, she reached the castle. She dismounted without even bothering to unsaddle her poor horse, only to be blocked by a stable boy on her way out. "Listen, you—"

" _You_ listen," Gwen interrupted, urgency making her snappish. "I am on an urgent errand and might need to ride out again. If I have not returned within an hour, then you may unsaddle and tend to my horse. Now _move_."

The stable boy, clearly taken aback, obliged.

Gwen jogged across the courtyard, through the halls, all the way to the little door in the physician's chambers. She tried to open it, only to discover that it was locked. "Merlin!" Gwen called, rapping on the wood.

Moments later, the door opened, revealing her confused-looking friend. "What's wrong?"

"Morgause is in Camelot."

Gwen had harbored a few doubts about his identity. Merlin's reaction dispelled them instantly. Blue eyes widened to enormous proportions as he jerked back. "What?"

"Morgause is in Camelot," Gwen repeated. "Please, Merlin, don't pretend you don't know what that means. I know. I puzzled it out."

A million emotions flitted across his face, too quickly for Gwen to identify. Then his gaze hardened as he gave a sharp nod. "Where is she?" he asked, marching back into his room.

"She should be by the western gate," Gwen answered, following him in. He hadn't denied it. He really was…. And he'd practically told her, too, back when they first met. _I'm in disguise._

The door clicked shut behind them. Gwen started, but she had to keep talking. "And Morgana is with her."

"What?" Merlin froze.

"We were riding in the forest—not too deep, of course, because there are bandits out there—but we were riding and she just showed up and started following us, so Morgana and I went inside the city because that might have made her leave, but she didn't leave, so I went to find you because she probably won't enchant Morgana in broad daylight, right?"

"Probably not," Merlin muttered, lifting up a floorboard and pulling out a deep blue cloak. By the gods, was that really where he hid his Emrys things? A _floorboard_? Really? "Morgana doesn't think she's been enchanted, at least."

"How do you know that?" Gwen asked. "Also, are you really going to pick a fight with her in the middle of Camelot?"

"If I must," Merlin said darkly, hands tightening around a jewel-tipped staff. "And I know because I asked her."

Gwen just stared at him.

"With my mind," the warlock muttered, looking a little embarrassed. "I can speak with… you know, others, in my mind."

"Ah."

"…I'm going to her. Ah, them."

"With that magical whirlwind thing."

"Well, yes."

Gwen nodded. "I see."

Merlin muttered something under his breath, and suddenly Gwen was looking at a young man with blond-brown hair and a heart-shaped face, dressed in green and gray. Another few words and he was gone.

Gwen sat down, hard, her mind racing. He really was Emrys. She was right. Not just one but two of her dearest friends were magical.

 _I'm in disguise_ , he had told her, and she had laughed it off. Yet it was true. Was 'Merlin' even his real name?

The thought hurt. The revelation hurt, even though she understood perfectly well why Merlin, or Emrys, or whoever he was hadn't told her the truth. All right, perhaps not perfectly well, as Merlin knew that she knew about Morgana and Mordred and had obviously trusted her with them, but this was the sort of secret that got people killed, and it made sense that he would keep quiet about it.

Well, there was no use lazing about fretting. Swallowing hard, Gwen forced her thoughts away from Merlin and magic and towards the current situation. What could she do to help?

Gwen wasn't a warrior or a spellbinder or a commander of men, but that didn't mean she was useless. She just had to be creative about it, that was all.

The first thing that came to mind was an observation that Merlin hadn't put his loose floorboard back into place. He'd even gone and left his cloak out. That wouldn't do.

As she slid Merlin's things back into place, Gwen felt her mood lift ever so slightly. It was a little thing, yes, but it let her look out for him. It was also proof that the person she knew, the friend she had in Merlin, wasn't entirely fake, because he was exactly the sort of person who _would_ rely on a single loose floorboard (probably not even enchanted for privacy) to protect his highly treasonous, potentially life-threatening secret. Even if he apparently spent his spare time directing an international conspiracy of powerful spellbinders because he was basically magical royalty, he was still, at least in this way, the Merlin she had come to know.

Merlin was magical royalty. Merlin. _Merlin_ was magical _royalty_. That was even more bizarre than him being magical, which at least explained his history of sympathizing with spellbinders and his ability to survive very odd situations that really ought to have killed him. The magical bit made sense; the royal bit, not so much.

She would really have to ask him about that, when he got back and she had time to ask all the questions bouncing around in her head.

Gwen stepped out of Merlin's room, closing the door behind her. What now?

She ought to find Gaius. Hopefully Merlin and Morgause wouldn't get into a fight, but if they did, he (and Morgana, who would be caught in the crossfire) would likely need medical attention. So she really should go find the court physician.

As she made her way through the castle, Gwen let her mind wander, trying to reconcile what she knew with what she had just learned. Merlin was Emrys was Merlin. Her friend had magic—not just magic but powerful magic—and status, and he was leading a multi-kingdom conspiracy to overturn all of Uther Pendragon's work, and he had somehow managed to empty the treasure vault and release a _dragon_ while doing Arthur's laundry and running errands for Gaius. Where did he find time? Did warlocks need less sleep than non-magical people? Because that was the only explanation she could think of.

Though now that she was looking at it, she could see the… not quite similarities, but continuities. The friendship with Morgana, the trust in Arthur's future. She could see Merlin in Emrys: his discomfort at being treated as a lord, his creativity and determination, the sheer disregard for the rules he needed to basically start a rebellion against the king. And she could see bits of Emrys in Merlin, too: his defense of Mordred, his ability to survive anything, the quiet wisdom he sometimes conveyed. Honestly, Gwen was starting to feel a bit stupid for not noticing any of this earlier even though she knew that, rationally, she'd had no reason to think that Merlin and Emrys were connected until earlier today.

"Do you know where Gaius is?" Gwen asked a passing guard.

"I think he's in a council meeting," the fellow replied.

"Thank you."

Merlin had magic. The thought seemed a little less foreign now, a bit less strange, but Gwen was self-aware enough to realize that it would take quite a bit of getting used to. It wasn't like with Morgana, when she and her lady had gradually come to realize the role magic played in her life. Merlin was a full-fledged member of the magical community, a respected leader, a lord (that was a thought which was _not_ becoming any less foreign).

As Gwen arrived at the door to the council chambers, she imagined Arthur's reaction to his manservant's status as magical royalty. The thought made her burst into giggles. The two guards standing by the door gave her odd looks.

As quickly as they had come, the giggles faded away. Arthur. Did Arthur know? Somehow, Gwen doubted it.

That… that had the potential to become very ugly, if anything went wrong.

Gwen frowned at the thought. Arthur would understand, wouldn't he? He probably would eventually, she decided, but first he'd be extremely upset that Merlin was basically using their connection to further his own agenda, especially if he found out in less than ideal circumstances, which really….

Oh.

How was she supposed to act around Arthur, knowing what she knew?

It had been easier with Morgana. She'd known about her lady's magic before growing closer to Arthur, and though she'd felt guilty, she'd accepted the situation, gotten used to it. Would she even be able to keep quiet about Merlin's true nature?

For the first time, Gwen found herself grateful that Uther had locked his son up in the dungeons with no release date in sight. She'd been visiting Arthur, of course (and Leon and Geoffrey), but this way she at least knew where he was and didn't have to worry about him encountering her in the halls.

Maybe she could convince Merlin to tell him before he—no, wait, then Leon and Geoffrey would hear too. Maybe Merlin could tell him shortly after his release, whenever that may be, except it wasn't fair to ask him to do this to make her life easier.

Except….

Arthur would learn the truth eventually, Gwen realized. Merlin would slip up or Arthur would see something or Cornelius Sigan would strip the illusion from "Emrys" in front of half of Camelot. Wouldn't it be better for Merlin—and Morgana, for that matter—to tell him of their own volition, on their own terms?

Then the council chamber's doors opened, and Gwen forced her thoughts away. She could consider whether it was right to encourage Merlin and Morgana to confess later, once she knew they were all right.

"Are you going anywhere, Gaius?"

"…I wasn't planning on it," the physician replied, looking mildly suspicious. At least he wasn't raising his eyebrow yet. "Is something wrong, Gwen?"

"Merlin's being Merlin," she replied, not knowing what else to say. She didn't even know if Gaius knew about his ward's conspiratorial activities. While he probably did, she didn't want to risk finding out the hard way that he didn't. To keep him from asking questions, she asked a question of her own. "What was the meeting about?"

Gaius grimaced. "Uther has decided that Arthur is to escort Morgana to Tintagel."

"To Tintagel, or simply out of Camelot?"

"Out of Camelot, though he's not going to admit it. What _exactly_ was Merlin doing?"

"I'm not certain exactly," Gwen mumbled, dropping her gaze. "It just didn't seem particularly, you know, safe."

Gaius sighed. "You would think that with Arthur out of commission he'd have more trouble finding trouble. Just tell me everything you know, Gwen."

"…I think he might be getting into a fight." It was the truth, technically, she told herself.

The physician sighed. "I'll get out the bruise balms."

To keep herself busy and to prevent Gaius from asking her more uncomfortable questions, Gwen busied herself with processing herbs the moment they arrived in the infirmary. It worked, thankfully; he got the hint that she wasn't willing to keep speaking.

It felt like an eternity before Merlin and Morgana entered the physician's chamber. Gaius was on them right away, looking over his ward and the lady for any evidence of injury. "What happened?"

Merlin closed the door. "Gwen found out about me being Emrys because Morgause showed up."

Gaius choked.

"Before you say anything, Gaius, it was not at all my fault. I wasn't even there when she figured it out. You can't get mad at me for Gwen being smart. In fact, we should probably be grateful that I managed to hide well enough that someone as smart as Gwen didn't figure me out until Morgause mentioned that I had a secret identity."

Gwen smiled in relief. He really was Merlin, her Merlin, even if he was Emrys too.

"And," he continued, "Gwen is really busy, and I'm sure she has lots of questions, so I need to let her ask them now."

The eyebrow shot up. Merlin put on his best innocent face. Morgana's lips twitched as she fought back a smile. "Then I suppose that _our_ talk can wait," Gaius growled.

Merlin's smile acquired a rather frozen quality. "Right."

Gaius sank into a chair. The others followed suit. "What would you like to know, Gwen?"

There were a hundred thing she could have said. How had Morgana found out, how long had he been a warlock, how had he managed to start a resistance movement while simultaneously working two jobs and protecting Arthur from hostile Questing Beasts and who-knew-what-else. But there was one thing she needed to understand before anything else.

"Why Camelot?"

Merlin settled back in his chair. "It all started when Mother found out that my friend Will knew I was a warlock…."

Gwen sat, and listened, and did her best to understand.

* * *

Technically, I was telling the truth when I said last time that this chapter, Uther has a plan. Technicalities are my friends.

I don't like this chapter. The pacing is weird. However, this gives Gwen some time to come to terms with Merlin's secrets without everybody else knowing. Are there any fanfics dealing mostly with Gwen's reaction to the Reveal? If you know any, please let me know, because I can't think of any offhand.

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which Gwen Reflects Upon How Floorboards are Truly Terrible Hiding Places"_

Next update: December 2. People deal with the fallout of Gwen's new knowledge while preparing for the journey to Tintagel.

-Antares


	11. The Tomb

Chapter XI: The Tomb

"Your sister?" Gaius exclaimed, eyes going wide.

"So she says," Morgana sighed. "Gaius, you knew my mother. Is it true?"

"I…." The physician looked away. Reluctantly, he confessed, "Your mother did bear another daughter, that much is true, and she gave the girl to the priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed. Whether Morgause is that child, though, I cannot tell you."

"Did my father know?"

"As I said, my lady," Gaius sighed, "I simply don't know."

"Perhaps someone at Tintagel could tell you?" Gwen suggested. She had been remarkably quiet since Merlin and Morgana returned from the city, more interested in listening to Merlin's (often garbled and badly organized) explanations than asking extra questions or letting on how she felt about all this new information. Morgana would have to talk with her about that later, once the immediate conversation was over and her poor overwhelmed friend had had a bit more time to adjust.

"Tintagel is far away," Morgana lamented.

"I could bring you," Merlin volunteered. "I'd have to scry it first, but I could bring you."

"You don't have to," Gaius said. "The king has decreed that Arthur will be escorting Morgana to Tintagel in three days' time."

Morgana perked up at that, then frowned in suspicion. "Why?"

"I suspect that he simply wants you away from Sigan," Gaius answered, shrugging.

"And Merlin," Gwen piped up. "Well, Emrys, at least."

Merlin looked immensely amused at that.

"And did Uther decree how long I was to stay?" Morgana asked.

"I don't believe he did," Gaius admitted. "He likely expects you and Arthur to stay there until Camelot is safer."

Merlin's amusement faded. "But if I'm at Tintagel with Arthur… gods, this sounds conceited, but who else stands a chance against him?"

"Not Uther," said Gaius, as concerned as his ward (though for slightly different reasons, Morgana would guess). "Not anyone else in Camelot."

"…I might need to talk with Alator," Merlin muttered. "Do you think he'd come if I asked him to?"

"I think that Alator will do whatever the mighty Lord Emrys suggests," Morgana replied.

Merlin scowled at her. "I'm not a lord."

"Oh?" she replied. "You didn't complain when Morgause used the title."

"I was trying to get rid of her," Merlin pointed out, but there were two bright spots of red on his face.

"How _did_ you get rid of her?" Gwen asked.

"Honestly, I sort of just showed up and asked her what she was doing in Camelot. She said that she was checking up on her sister and making sure that Morgana chose the right side, that she had no idea Morgana was already aware of her magic and the conspiracy. I asked Morgana if she wanted Morgause to keep following her. Morgana said no, of course, so I told Morgause to leave."

Gwen's shoulders slumped in relief. "Oh, that's wonderful. Part of me was worried that I'd sent you into battle, though of course I was trying very hard to not think about that." Her grin was sheepish.

"You did the smartest thing you could," Gaius assured her. He glanced at Morgana. "Both of you did, and things didn't escalate any further. We should count ourselves lucky and perhaps make plans in case something like this happens again."

"I don't think it's Morgause who is the main problem, though," Merlin pointed out. All of his earlier amusement was gone, leaving him somber and serious. "Right now, at least, she's not trying to kill anybody. Sigan is. So I think we should focus on him."

"Yes," Gaius agreed, "we ought to focus on Sigan, but it's still a good idea to spend some time thinking about how to handle Morgause."

Merlin nodded. "Any suggestions, anyone?"

"You could teach me how to talk with my mind," Morgana replied. She didn't particularly like the idea of having to call for help, but it would be a long time before she could handle a powerful and experienced priestess like Morgause on her own.

"That shouldn't take too long," Merlin assured her. "I could maybe teach you later today, and then we could practice on the road to Tintagel." He cocked his head, considering. "It would probably be best for me if we could do that after we make plans for Sigan, because I need to contact Alator and do some spirit walking. Does that work for you?"

"I don't have anything I can't postpone," Morgana answered.

"Excellent."

"Excuse me," said Gwen, "but what's spirit walking and why do you need to do it?"

"Spirit walking is basically when my mind goes out of my body. If I'm spirit walking, I should be able to see if someone is possessed by Sigan."

"Right," the maid muttered, clearly filing that away for further contemplation. "So you're going to try to find Sigan before we leave."

"Exactly."

"But what will you do if you find him?"

"…Sleep spell, probably."

Gwen's brow crinkled. "But he's a spirit. Do… sleep spells even work on spirits?"

"They should."

This statement did very little to assure Gwen, who was looking more dubious by the minute. "But he can detach himself from his host body, right? What if he possesses you?"

"There's also a chance that I could find his anchor—the object he enchanted that preserves the magic he needs to be a spirit," Merlin explained, noting his friend's expression of befuddlement.

"Merlin, do you even know what this anchor looks like?"

"Gaius and I are pretty certain it's some kind of jewel from Sigan's tomb."

Poor Gwen looked even more confused. "But I thought you didn't know where it was?"

"I don't," Merlin answered, almost as confused as Gwen.

"Well, you just said that you think it's a gem from Sigan's tomb. Have you looked there?"

"The magic doesn't require the anchor to stay in one place," Merlin explained, but there was a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

" _Did_ you check his tomb?" Morgana asked slowly.

Merlin shook his head. "No. I always assumed he'd taken the anchor with him."

"He probably did, if the anchor really can be moved," Gwen said.

"But what if he didn't?" asked Morgana, a bit more quickly now. "What if he thought that it was too much of a risk to carry around the anchor and left it hiding in plain sight in his tomb?"

"Do you think he could have, Gaius?" Merlin wondered.

"It's possible," the physician stated. "The tomb _is_ full of booby traps, and it would be extremely difficult to locate one jewel in a room filled with them."

"I'll look," Merlin said, rising to his feet. "Just let me grab Beothaich and I'll—"

"You should spirit walk there first," Gaius interjected. "I don't want you running afoul of Sigan's traps."

"Oh. Right."

"Merlin, if you need to do this, my next lesson can wait," Morgana told him. Camelot was a lot more important than she was.

The warlock hesitated. "Tonight, then?"

"Tonight."

He smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

Morgana smiled back. "So am I."

* * *

There was something in Cornelius Sigan's tomb.

Merlin had figured that he would find one of two things in the burial chamber: absolutely nothing or the spirit himself. He found neither, but he didn't think his visit was entirely fruitless. There was something there, something hidden beneath decayed clothing and yellowed bone, something full of magic. Merlin was fairly certain that it wasn't the anchor for Sigan's immortality spell, but it had definitely been created by the man.

The only problem was that he would have to retrieve it, whatever it was, in person. That meant sneaking past the guards (not much of a problem. Donald hadn't been captain long enough to make a dent in their laziness), working his way through gods-knew-how-many booby traps, and moving the remnants of Sigan's corpse to see what it hid. Merlin wasn't particularly squeamish—he was the physician's apprentice, after all—but he wasn't particularly comfortable doing this, as he was fairly certain that it counted as grave robbing.

Honestly, though, he was most worried about the booby traps.

That night, after Morgana had gotten the hang of telepathic conversation, Merlin crept through the citadel down to the caves. Slowly and carefully, he padded into Sigan's burial chamber, every sense straining for a hint of something wrong. While the tomb's discoverers and Cedric had probably set off most if not all of the traps, it was better to be safe than sorry. For all he knew, the traps could somehow reset themselves mechanically. It was hardly likely, but neither was Sigan's success in basically coming back from the dead. He needed to be cautious.

This uncharacteristic hesitation may or may not have been a result of the long lecture that Gaius had given him that afternoon. Merlin honestly wasn't sure.

No traps were triggered as Merlin approached the sarcophagus, nor did anything happen when he lifted it off its pedestal with magic.

There on the pedestal lay an ancient book, the pages curled and yellowed at their edges, the binding faded with age. It was hardly an inspiring sight, especially next to the gold and jewels that filled the rest of the tomb, but Merlin had no doubt that _this_ was the most valuable treasure in the room.

It was Cornelius Sigan's grimoire.

* * *

Arthur, Leon, and Geoffrey were led from the dungeons to the throne room when the sun was less than a finger's width above the eastern horizon. Uther sat upon his throne, flanked by a pair of guards. Aside from them and the dungeon guards (and Merlin, who looked about as sleepy as Arthur felt but nonetheless followed his master in), the usually busy chamber was almost empty. Arthur didn't know how he felt about that. Did the emptiness mean that his father wanted to do something the public would disapprove of, or was he simply trying to keep a scandal involving the royal family away from the public eye? Uneasy, he glanced at Geoffrey. The old man was pale and shaking.

"Arthur," the king said, cold as the northern wastes. "You have been seen consorting with a sorcerer." He leaned forward. (Arthur bit his tongue. Mentioning that Emrys was technically a warlock wouldn't do anyone any good.) " _Explain_."

The prince stood as tall and straight as he could. Somehow, his voice was steady as he replied, "Sir Leon and I led a contingent of guards to investigate why the warning bells were ringing. On our way to the east gate, we encountered Cornelius Sigan and six knight-like creatures in iron masks. Emrys appeared shortly after we arrived."

This was all completely true. It was just incomplete, that was all. Being incomplete wasn't the same as being dishonest, and anyways, his father preferred it when courtiers (and defendants, which he tried not to think about) got straight to the point. Really, he was doing Uther a favor by leaving out the completely irrelevant details of how Emrys had been in contact with him even before he'd met up with Leon.

Maybe, if Arthur told himself that enough times, he'd actually come to believe it.

But now came the tricky part.

"When he appeared," Arthur continued blithely, "my sword burst into flames that helped destroy one of the Knights of Medhir. However, he couldn't enchant the guards' blades because Sigan immediately attacked him."

That was not true, not true at all, and there was no way for Arthur to pretend otherwise. Worse, it was a flimsy lie. If the king had spoken to any of the guards… if the guards hadn't been distracted by the battle… hell, if Leon so much as opened his mouth, he would be exposed, and then he'd have to answer quite a few uncomfortable questions. Plus he'd still be considered 'enchanted' and remain locked in the dungeons for the rest of his life.

The king's grip tightened on the arms of his throne. "And what became of this sword?" he demanded.

Arthur went rigid. He hadn't expected that question, hadn't prepared a response, and how his mind was completely blank.

It was Merlin of all people who saved him; Merlin, who Arthur _knew_ feared Uther. "Prince Arthur commanded me to destroy it, sire. He told me yesterday when I went down with his lunch that he couldn't in good conscience use a sword tainted with the evils of magic, so I was to do whatever I had to to destroy it." He looked up through his lashes, his eyes all blue and innocent like he wasn't telling a bald-faced lie to a man who could have him executed. "I gave it to my friend Gwen. Her father's a blacksmith, and he melted it down at his forge." Merlin gave an affected shudder. "It _screamed_ when it melted, sire. It was awful."

"I'm certain it was," Uther muttered, relaxing.

Arthur wanted to goggle at Merlin and demand to know how the hell he'd gotten so good at lying, but that would give it away. Instead, he gave his best princely nod and said, in his best princely voice, "Excellent. Well done, Merlin—for once."

Amusement flickered in Merlin's blue eyes. "Thank you, sire."

"What happened after the sorcerer appeared?" Uther demanded, returning to the matter at hand.

"We allowed Emrys to battle the other warlock," Arthur replied, relieved to be back on his mental script. "I'm afraid we didn't have much choice in the matter, as we were occupied with the other Knights of Medhir. If Sir Leon had not realized that the Knights' own swords could be used against them, I fear we would all have died. His quick thinking saved Camelot."

"So the knights were destroyed. Continue."

"Sigan and Emrys had been fighting. I don't know the details of what they were doing, but when the knights were destroyed, Sigan commented on Emrys's power and disappeared. A few moments later, Sir Geoffrey stumbled out of the shadows, completely free from possession. We didn't know that, though, so Emrys knocked him out."

Uther's hands tightened around the arms of his throne. "You spoke with him."

"…I spoke with him," Arthur had to admit. "I felt that my first priority was determining whether the man who has explicitly vowed to destroy Camelot was gone, and consulting Emrys seemed like the most efficient way to do that."

Uther stood. "Your first priority is the eradication of magic!"

"And my first priority in that was making certain that the more dangerous magic user was gone," Arthur hastened to explain. "Sigan is—"

"Sigan was not there. This so-called Emrys was. Why did you not bring me his head?"

Arthur bit his tongue.

"And you, Leon!" the king raged, turning to glare at his knight. "Why did you not move to destroy the sorcerer?"

Leon flushed slightly, mumbled, "I was uncertain how to proceed."

"Uncertain?" Uther repeated, incredulous. "You are a knight of Camelot! It is your duty to kill sorcerers!" He loomed above them, his eyes aflame. "Give me one reason that I should not have you executed for treason."

Silence, ringing and total. Arthur was aware that his jaw had dropped, that he was gawking at his king and father like he'd never seen the man before in his life. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he hadn't wanted to.

"Because Sir Leon's quick thinking with the Knights of Medhir saved your son's life."

Every eye in the room turned to Merlin, who cringed away when Uther's gaze settled on him. "Well, it did," the servant mumbled, his cheeks reddening.

Arthur didn't know if he wanted to hit the boy or hug him, which was not an uncommon experience around Merlin.

"A fair point," Uther admitted slowly, "but I was asking your betters. Go to the stocks."

"…Yes, King Uther," Merlin mumbled, backing away. He didn't bow, a faux pas that made Arthur sigh with exasperation. Idiot or not, Merlin really should have learned the protocol by now.

"Because you saved my son's life, and because you have until this point been an exemplary knight, I will spare you," Uther proclaimed.

Leon sagged in relief. "Thank you, sire," he said, bowing low.

"Don't thank me yet. You are hereby relieved from your position as First Knight of Camelot."

Leon nodded. The relief had not faded from his face.

"As for you, Arthur…. You are my son and my heir, and the victim of enchantment. You will escort Lady Morgana to Tintagel."

"Tintagel?" Arthur echoed, surprised. It wasn't like Morgana to run from a fight.

"She will go to Tintagel," Uther repeated in the tone of someone who has already argued through the subject with someone very stubborn. "She does not wish to go, but I am her guardian and her king. You will escort her to Tintagel."

"Yes, Father." Arthur bowed. He felt like a coward, but what else could he do?

"Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth, step forward."

Visibly trembling, the old man did as he was bade. "Sire."

"How did you come to be possessed?"

"I'm not quite certain, my king," Geoffrey confessed. "I was in the weapons vault after you commanded me to see what the sorcerer had taken. I remember seeing a blue mist. Then, suddenly, I couldn't control my body."

The king fixed the old knight with the full force of his stare. Geoffrey gulped, blanched. He was afraid for his life, just like Leon had been afraid for his life, just like Merlin had been afraid for his life. Was everyone this afraid of his father?

"…Because you were an unwilling victim, I acknowledge that you had no part in Sigan's evils. You are simply another example of why anyone can fall prey to the evils of magic." Uther's gaze flitted to his son before returning to Geoffrey's face. "You may keep your position here at court."

"Thank you, sire," Geoffrey replied, his relief palpable.

"Sir Leon, Sir Geoffrey, you are dismissed. Arthur, to me."

"Yes, Father?" the prince asked once he was close enough.

In a low voice, the king stated, "There is a chance that this so-called Emrys will follow you to Tintagel. Once you arrive at the castle, have it searched top to bottom for signs of sorcery. If you find him, don't bother with a trial. Kill him on the spot."

It was treason to disobey a direct order from the king, but Arthur knew even as his father spoke that he wouldn't do it. Emrys was the only one who could defeat Sigan; killing him would doom Camelot.

But his father would never listen to reason, not when magic was concerned, so he simply nodded. "I will do my best."

* * *

Alternate Chapter Title: " _Wherein Merlin and Arthur Tell Many Lies, But Merlin is a Better Liar than Arthur"_

Next up: December 23. It'll probably be more preparations for going to Tintagel. There's a couple things that still need to get done.

(No time for a long AN because I need to stop procrastinating on my term papers. Sorry.)

-Antares


	12. In the Stocks

Chapter XII: In the Stocks

The sound of a sigh made Merlin lift his head. Gwen was looking at him with a familiar mix of fondness and exasperation. Grinning sheepishly, the warlock waved as much as he was able to with his wrists bound by the stocks. "Morning, Gwen."

"Good morning, Merlin. Do I want to know?"

"Uther let Arthur, Leon, and Geoffrey out of the dungeons today, but then I reminded him that Leon saved Arthur's life so he wouldn't execute him and he sent me to the stocks."

Brown eyes widened in alarm. "He threatened to execute Leon?"

"Yes," Merlin said, then explained what happened.

"Do you think that Uther is going to do it?" Gwen asked, alarmed. "He didn't say he wouldn't, at least not when you were there. Do you know if Leon's going to be alright?"

"I am," announced a familiar voice. Merlin craned his neck to see a familiar figure approaching him and Gwen. Leon was still dirty from his stay in the dungeons, and it was rather odd to see him without his usual cloak of Camelot red, but there was a warm smile on the knight's face as he approached the manservant. "I don't know if your words persuaded him or if he freed me for another reason, but thank you, Merlin. You very possibly saved my life."

Merlin smiled back at him, relieved. "You're welcome, Sir Leon. What about Sir Geoffrey? Is he going to be alright?"

"He is," said another familiar voice. Merlin grimaced slightly, wishing he could turn his head around so that he would notice when people approached him from the side. "Father realized that Geoffrey was a victim and couldn't be held accountable for what Sigan did in his body. He went to his chambers, I think to get a bath."

"More good news," Merlin declared.

"Yes," Arthur agreed, but he looked troubled. Merlin made a mental note to ask his friend what was wrong, ignore him when he claimed that everything was fine, and then keep pushing until the stubborn prat finally came clean.

"I hope you're not here to ask about your bath," Merlin teased. "As you can see, I'm a bit occupied."

"Too occupied to do your job and serve your prince?"

"I mustn't disappoint my fans," the warlock informed him solemnly.

Gwen was the only one who chuckled in response, but it was a soft, wistful sound. At Leon and Arthur's questioning glances, she explained, "He said something similar the day we met. He was in the stocks, and I went to introduce myself."

"It was Arthur's fault," Merlin interjected.

"It was your own fault," the prince retorted.

"No, it was your fault. I wouldn't have had to confront you if you weren't being a prat."

Arthur grumbled something under his breath. Merlin thought he caught the word 'delusional,' but he couldn't be sure.

"What else did he say?" Leon asked Gwen, a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary.

Gwen's smile was almost sad. "That he was in disguise."

Arthur snorted automatically. "Merlin couldn't wear a disguise to save his life. Too much decep—" But here he cut himself off, a frown furrowing his brow. In a much lower voice, he asked, "What did you actually do with Excalibur?"

Merlin considered. Leon knew that Arthur hadn't actually commanded him to destroy it, and Gwen knew that he hadn't had her father melt it down. "It's hidden in my room," he replied, deeming that a safe enough answer for present company.

"Excalibur?" Gwen repeated.

"My sword," Arthur explained.

"Oh!" Gwen looked embarrassed, a faint blush darkening her cheeks. Apparently, she was remembering that Merlin had mentioned it during their conversation about how he was secretly a warlock leading a magical conspiracy and consorting with dragons and whatnot. Not that he blamed her for forgetting, of course. There had been a lot of information for her to take in over a very short period of time, so he could hardly blame her for temporarily forgetting a few details. "Of course."

Arthur was giving Merlin an odd look, making the warlock wonder if the prince had ever actually told him—Merlin him, that was, not Emrys him—that the sword even had a name, much less what the name was. He had a nasty feeling that he wasn't supposed to have known what Excalibur was called. In an effort to distract Arthur (and Leon, who might figure out that something was up), he asked, "Are you here to get me out? I'm already getting a crick in my neck."

"Not quite yet," Arthur replied. "You still have to stay there for another hour or so, longer if my father figures out I'm letting you out early."

"Really?" Merlin exclaimed.

"Really." A pained expression flitted across the prince's face. "Did you really expect to be punished _that_ much after loyal service?"

"Considering that that's how I ended up your manservant—"

"No." Arthur was serious now, pensive and frowning. "You were all…."

Merlin cocked his head as much as he could. "All what?"

"…Never mind," Arthur finally muttered. He still looked disturbed, though, so Merlin made a mental note to bother him about that, too. "I should go bathe. I'll leave orders for you to be let out as soon as possible."

Merlin smiled at him. "Thanks."

Arthur nodded as he walked away, still plainly preoccupied with whatever was distracting him. Merlin dearly hoped it wasn't anything about his suspicious ability to lie or his slip-up about Excalibur's name.

"I ought to bathe as well," Leon sighed. "I never realized quite how fragrant the dungeons were until these last few days. Thank you again, Merlin. If there is ever anything I can do to even partially repay you, say the word and I will."

Merlin's smile widened. "I'll keep that in mind for the next time Arthur's being a prat."

Leon's lips twitched. "So later today, then?"

The smile warped into a grin. "Probably."

The knight chuckled. "Until then, Merlin. Try to keep stretching, all right? I've heard that's supposed to help."

"I'll try," he called as Leon made his way back to the castle. Soon only Gwen remained. Though she'd been smiling in fond amusement at her friends' interactions, now the happiness was melting off her face, replaced by something nervous and awkward. "Is something wrong, Gwen?"

The maid chewed her lip. Her eyes flitted about, taking in the (fortunate) lack of bored commoners waiting to chuck rotten vegetables at him. She leaned in, spoke in such a quiet voice that Merlin had to strain his ears to hear it.

"Have you ever thought about telling him?"

There was no need to ask who 'he' might be or what Merlin might tell him about. "When he's king," the warlock murmured back.

"That might be thirty years from now," Gwen pointed out. "I—I know that it's your secret and your choice, Merlin, and I'm not exactly unbiased in this, but I think you should consider telling Arthur sooner than that. Much, _much_ sooner than that, I mean. Maybe even before we get back from Tintagel."

Merlin goggled at her, his jaw agape. "You want me to _what_?"

"I think you should tell him soon," was the quiet, resolute response. "I figured it out on my own, Merlin, and I spend much less time with you than Arthur."

"You're also considerably smarter than him."

Her lips twitched, but she didn't quite smile. "Thank you, but that isn't the point. The point is that there are so many ways that Arthur could figure it out, or see something he shouldn't, or walk in on you—well, you know—doing something you shouldn't. And I think that it would be better if he heard it from you—if it was your choice—instead of it being an accident or something that an enemy forced you into."

"…Are you saying that as someone who found out on her own?" Merlin asked softly.

"Maybe," she sighed. "I think so. I don't know, really, because I understand why you didn't tell me. I know that me knowing is dangerous for both of us. And I know that it really is your secret and it should be your choice about whether or not to reveal it. It's not… it's your _life_ , Merlin, and you weren't under any obligation to endanger yourself to tell me. But…." She gave a tiny, helpless little shrug. "But I still sort of wish that you had, and I think that the situation with Arthur is different and similar enough that maybe you should. Does that make any sense at all?"

Merlin considered for a long moment before slowly inclining his head. "I… think so. And… I'll think about it, okay? Telling Arthur, I mean."

Gwen smiled shyly. "Thank you," she whispered. "That's all I ask, really. Thank you. And, Merlin? If you do choose to tell Arthur and you need help or anything, let me know and I'll help. Also, I'm really _not_ angry or upset with you for not telling me. I understand. I just… wish that it didn't have to be this way."

"Me, too," Merlin said. "But that's what we're working for, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." Gwen patted him on the back, her hand warm and gentle. "I need to get back to Morgana now. I'll see you later, Merlin."

"See you later, Gwen."

As his friend walked off, Merlin's smile faded into a small pensive frown. Tell Arthur. Knowingly, deliberately tell his friend and future king that he was a warlock, that he was Emrys, that he had been lying through his teeth for well over a year and was leading a resistance movement against everything that Uther Pendragon stood for.

That… would probably not go over well.

His first instinct was to cling to that reasoning, to use it as his shield against Gwen's words and as his excuse to keep to the shadows. His mother had conditioned him literally from the day of his birth to stay hidden in the shadows, to keep the magic secret. One of his earliest memories consisted of her making him look at the logs in their fireplace as they blackened and burned and collapsed into little gray piles of ash. _This is what will happen to you if anyone finds out_ , she had told him, all grim and determined and afraid. _If anyone realizes that you're a warlock, you will burn just like this wood until there's nothing left of you. That is why you need to keep the magic secret._

But Gwen had a point, didn't she? If Arthur were to find out on his own—if he deduced it like she had or if Sigan forced Merlin's hand or one of the thousand other things that could give him away—that wouldn't go over well either.

If he were to tell Arthur—and he wasn't guaranteeing that he would, just trying to work out a hypothetical question in his head—how would the prince react? He would be upset and angry, yes, and he might accuse Merlin of using him, which the spellbinder supposed was _technically_ true, though it was by no means the extent of their relationship, but…. Arthur was coming to understand, now, just what the Purge really meant. He was learning to see _magic_ for what it really was.

With a start, Merlin realized that he wasn't afraid that Arthur would hand him over to his father. Sometime in the last year, that fear had shriveled into nothingness. Arthur was working voluntarily with Emrys, wielding a sword burnished in dragon fire and tempered in the Lake of Avalon. He'd spoken up for the druids, though not too loudly (which Merlin thought had more to do with not wanting to enter a futile argument with Uther than anything else), and when he'd learned what Merlin had done to protect little Mordred, he'd been more upset that the manservant had endangered himself than that he had smuggled someone sentenced to death outside the citadel.

No, Arthur wouldn't betray him if he knew the truth. Merlin had known that for a while, but this was the first time he'd actually _realized_ it. Warlock or not, Emrys or not, Arthur would protect him from Uther. He wouldn't like lying to his father, but for Merlin's sake and Camelot's and maybe even his own, he would do it.

The smile which lit up Merlin's face was wide and brilliant and didn't disappear even when a trio of teenagers began throwing soggy turnips at his head.

On the other hand, Arthur _would_ be upset, even furious. He would feel hurt and betrayed and used. Merlin would not lose his life by revealing himself to Arthur (not unless the prince did something stupid and exposed him by accident, at least), but there was a huge possibility that he would destroy the friendship between them.

Except that that risk would only increase as he waited, right? If he told Arthur soon (before getting back from Tintagel, he thought, his heart fluttering), then they would have known each other for a year and some months when the prince learned the truth. That meant he would have only kept his secret a few months after subconsciously deciding that he could trust him and just a few weeks since he'd begun interacting with him as Emrys. But if he waited another year or two or three, even after Arthur started actively seeking Emrys out and working with him, then wouldn't that just imply that Merlin didn't trust Arthur at all?

Basically, Merlin thought, Arthur would feel betrayed and hurt no matter when Merlin told him who and what he was, but he'd feel more betrayed and hurt the longer Merlin waited. Which meant that it would be better for their friendship if Merlin told him sooner rather than later. Which meant—his heart skipped a beat—which meant that he should tell him _soon_ , possibly even before they got back from Tintagel. Hell, _probably_ before they got back from Tintagel, since it would be better to tell him away from Camelot.

Because if he knew that Arthur wouldn't have him killed and that secrecy would only exacerbate the prince's sense of betrayal, there was really no good reason not to tell him. Soon. Within the next few days, even.

The bottom fell out of Merlin's stomach. His throat went dry, and cold sweat beaded across his forehead.

Tell Arthur.

 _Keep the magic secret._

The vegetable throwers—completely ignored by the warlock, who had been so deep in thought that he wouldn't have noticed Cornelius Sigan standing right in front of him making the earth shake and fire rain from the sky—stopped their messy work, noting with alarm that Merlin's face had paled to a nasty, unhealthy-looking greenish-white. They glanced at each other uncertainly, wondering if perhaps one of them had hit the prisoner in the stomach with a particularly large turnip without the others noticing or if someone should go get a bucket, because Merlin really looked like he was about to be sick.

"Do you think we should go get Gaius?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

In the stocks, Merlin was frantically searching for a reason to not tell Arthur. Surely there was one, right? Like—like how if Arthur knew that Merlin was a warlock, he would have to choose between his friend and his father every day.

(Yes, because it's not like Arthur wasn't already doing that with Emrys. Well, sort of, at least.)

Arthur might accidentally slip up if he knew, thereby inadvertently exposing Merlin's secret to some random stranger who would go to the king.

(No one else had slipped up after finding out, and Arthur hadn't told anyone about the light in the Cave of Balor or how he'd awakened on the shores of the Lake of Avalon or even that his manservant had risked his life to save a druid boy. He hadn't told Uther the true extent of his interactions with Emrys. He could keep secrets, even big, important ones like Merlin's true nature.)

Knowing the truth might endanger Arthur.

(How? It wasn't like Uther would have his only son and heir executed. The man had more faults than Merlin could count, but he loved his son. He would never hurt him. If anything, he'd blame Merlin for enchanting him and absolve Arthur of blame entirely.)

It would be extremely awkward to serve as Arthur's manservant if he knew.

(It would be a lot easier to not have to make excuses, though, and they wouldn't have to keep meeting up in the abandoned eastern barracks.)

If he told Arthur that he was Emrys, then… then… then his mother would kill him. Or Gaius would. Or they'd team up and kill him together, and then he would be dead, and that would be extremely counterproductive to his goals.

(… _Really_?)

Merlin found himself wishing for someone to talk to about this. He knew what everyone would say, of course: Gwen would encourage him to tell, Gaius and his mother (and probably his father too, for that matter), and Kilgharrah would just spout off something cryptic before soaring away into the sunset. Blaise, perhaps? Or maybe Morgana. Or both.

That was what he would do. He would talk with Blaise and Morgana, and then….

And then, perhaps, he would start planning a discussion with Arthur.

* * *

Alternate chapter title: _"In Which Merlin and Gwen have a Very Important Conversation_ "

I am extremely sorry for updating a week late. TERM PAPERS SUCK. They are the worst. They are the absolute worst. However, I SHOULD be able to get the next update up in two weeks, on January 13. I suspect that'll include Merlin's conversation with Blaise, another conversation with Gaius, and, heck, maybe we'll see Alator too.

Happy New Year!

-Antares


	13. Departure

Chapter XIII: Departure

"I think, Merlin, that your friend Guinevere might have a point."

That was not what Merlin had been expecting to hear when he told Blaise his predicament. He'd expected that the druid—recently returned from a sojourn with his people at the Isle of the Blessed only to discover that Camelot had gone collectively insane—would protest immediately, would list a dozen good reasons to keep silent that his pupil hadn't thought of. He'd… sort of been hoping for that, honestly, because even though his head said one thing, years of conditioning demanded that he find another reason—a good reason, one strong enough to overpower Gwen's words—to keep the magic secret.

"Why do you say that?" he asked quietly, fiddling with his kerchief.

Blaise was silent for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. Merlin waited in tense silence. Finally the druid spoke. "I think that since you no longer need to worry about him betraying you to his father, you have a brief period of time where your friendship will not be too badly damaged by his perceived mistrust. The longer you wait, the worse he will react when you reveal yourself to him, especially since you know him as both Merlin and Emrys."

"But…." Merlin's fists clenched, dropped to his side. "Are you sure?"

A warm hand grasped his shoulder. "Yes. But you're afraid."

Merlin flinched. "I've spent my entire life…."

The hand squeezed down gently. "I remember when the Slaughter began," Blaise said quietly. "One day, the world made sense, though we grieved for the poor young queen's death. The next, word reached my clan of the Day of Pyres." His eyes were distant, sad. "I didn't believe it at first. Neither, I think, did many of my kin. But then other rumors reached us, and our chieftainess asked for volunteers to venture into Camelot and seek the truth. They were to travel openly, with triskelions on their cloaks."

Merlin's head snapped up, his eyes widening in alarm.

"A young man of our tribe spoke against it. If there was even a slight chance that magic had been outlawed, then surely our scouts ought to hide. Many argued against it, thinking the rumors completely ridiculous, but in the end, Iseldir's words of caution prevailed. His suggestion saved my life, and his skill at evading Uther's bloodcloaks played a great role in his election as Elowen's successor. Listening to his fear kept Iseldir, and me, and our entire tribe alive… but when the time came, he was the first to stand behind you and become a living reminder that magic was not purely evil. He told me that while there is no shame in fear, a leader must know when to heed his fears and when to overcome them."

Merlin was not a leader, but he thought he understood what Blaise was telling him. The warlock forced a weak smile. "I don't think I've ever heard you talk so much." The joke fell flat. Flinching, Merlin returned to the relevant topic. "If… if I was going to tell him, when do you think I should?"

"I would wait until you reach Tintagel," Blaise advised. "It will be easier to get him alone if you're not on the road, and this way he'll have some time away from his father so that he can adjust."

So… three or four days, then, assuming he took Blaise's advice. They were to leave tomorrow, which was why he'd been able to take such a long "herb-gathering journey" in the forest—he had to stock up Gaius's supplies before leaving, after all—and it took about three and a half days to get to Tintagel. If he gave them a half-day or so to get settled, then he'd have four or five days before he couldn't really put it off anymore, not if he wanted to give Arthur maximum time to adjust before they had to return.

Five days. By all the gods, that was less than a week.

Merlin was starting to feel sick again.

"Are you all right?"

"Just… listening to my fears when I probably shouldn't, that's all." He forced a weak little chuckle. "How do I shut them up?"

"In my experience, sometimes you need to reason with them. Other times you simply need to ignore them. Still other times, you need to shout more loudly than they can. In this case, though, I think you'll need all three."

"All three," the younger man repeated. "Okay. I can do that, maybe."

"Are you certain you're all right, Merlin?" the druid asked quietly. "This is one of the most important decisions of your life. You don't need to make it right this moment."

They would be in Tintagel in five days, Merlin could have said, but instead, he forced brightness into his smile. "Of course."

Did he even need to talk to Morgana? Merlin weighed the question as he made his way back to Camelot, the city of death that had somehow become almost a home to him. Blaise had given good advice, and he doubted that the witch could silence the druid _and_ the maid. But he probably should anyways, just to let her know that oh, by the way, he might be telling Arthur he was a warlock. He wouldn't mention that Morgana was a witch, of course—that was her secret to tell or keep as she saw fit—but he figured that she would appreciate the warning.

"Is something wrong, Merlin?"

The warlock started. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't even noticed his return to the physician's chambers. He was halfway up the short flight of stairs that led to his own room, his arms and packs still heavy with herbs. Merlin's cheek's flushed as red as his neckerchief. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just, you know, distracted."

"Considering what happened last time you left Camelot, I can't really blame you."

Merlin pulled up short. He'd been so worried about catching Cornelius Sigan and then about potentially telling Arthur his secret that he'd pretty much forgotten that he was leaving Camelot. That, he recalled, was what had resulted in this entire Sigan fiasco in the first place.

Well, sort of. The excavations had been going on long before he'd left for the summit on the Isle of the Blessed and he hadn't paid any attention to them then, but perhaps he'd have been able to stop Sigan right away if he'd been in Camelot when the man escaped. It felt almost like he was tempting fate, now, leaving his city alone again.

Granted, this time he wasn't leaving Camelot undefended. Alator and a half-dozen of his initiates were to infiltrate the city while he was gone, keeping an eye out for threats born of and aligned against magic. If Sigan tried anything, they would be there; if Uther tried anything, they would be there.

Still, the reminder frightened him, filled him with a superstitious dread. What if he hadn't done enough to protect the city? Hells, what if Sigan found another immortal army and Alator's Catha didn't have the weapons to fight the undead soldier? He didn't think that there were many more immortal armies lying around Camelot, but then, he hadn't known about the Knights of Medhir either until they showed up.

…And now he was worrying about whether or not Catha training covered what to do when the dead reared up and attacked.

"Merlin?"

Gaius's alarm drew the warlock out of his reverie. "Sorry," the younger man muttered, reddening slightly. "I'm just… kind of nervous about leaving, you know."

The physician's face softened. "We will be fine," Gaius assured him.

But they weren't fine, not in Merlin's dreams. He saw the white walls of Camelot blacken and burn and crumble, saw ravens pecking out Gaius's eyes. He woke with his sleeping clothes plastered to his clammy white skin, to a racing heart and a sick dread and an almost uncontrollable urge to go check on his uncle. Gaius was sleeping, of course, his face unperturbed by nightmares. Lucky man.

Merlin nodded at the sight of his sleeping mentor, then went to summon Kilgharrah.

He and the dragon hadn't been meeting quite so often now that they no longer needed to smuggle sheep together, but he still had the scale that he could use to summon him. Merlin called his friend's name three times, then settled down against a tree to wait.

It wasn't long before wingbeats announced Kilgharrah's arrival. The dragon landed surprisingly lightly for such a huge creature, bronze-gold scales shining in the meager light of the moon and stars. His eyes, though, were as bright as ever.

"Young warlock."

"Kilgharrah." Merlin stood, approached. "I'm sorry to call you so close to the citadel with Uther's men so paranoid, but I think I need a favor."

"Of course."

"Uther is sending Arthur to Tintagel to get him away from Sigan. He and I are leaving tomorrow. I asked Alator of the Catha and some of his men to look after the citadel while I'm gone, but they can't be everywhere at once, and I'm just…. Can you bring me the Raven's Key, Kilgharrah?"

Kilgharrah's great golden head tilted to the side. "If you are certain," he replied after a long moment of silence.

"I am." Merlin met his friend's gaze. "I've given Alator a copy of Sigan's grimoire so he has a better idea what he's up against, but I very much doubt that he put a copy of every spell he knows into his book. Plus he possessed Geoffrey for awhile, long enough to learn about the Knights of Medhir, who didn't exist until long after Sigan was buried. I would just really rather be safe than sorry."

"So you intend to give the Key to Alator."

"To Gaius, actually," Merlin corrected. "The Catha can't spend too much time in the castle, but Gaius lives there. I figure that if the worst happens, Gaius can use the Key as a last line of defense. He's got a copy of the grimoire too."

Almost immediately after finding Cornelius Sigan's grimoire down in his tomb, Merlin had purchased four blank journals and magically copied the book's contents into them. That much parchment had cost him a pretty penny, and the copying itself had been long and boring, but this way, Merlin wasn't the only one dredging through a complicated old tome for obscure information that might possibly help. He'd kept the original copy for himself, of course—there were enchantments on it that he wanted to unravel—but he'd given the four replicas to Blaise, Gaius, Alator, and his parents on the Isle of the Blessed, who would hopefully be able to find someone with experience in magical research.

"And the grimoire contains directions about how to use the Raven's Key?"

"I think so," Merlin mumbled, embarrassed. "I haven't really had a chance to look through it yet." He'd been too busy with replication, meetings, preparations, quietly panicking about how he might be telling Arthur his secret in just a few days, and of course his sojourn in the stocks to do any research. Hopefully the other people with copies had had more time to actually accomplish something.

"Even if the grimoire does not contain instructions, I doubt that the Raven's Key is very difficult to use," Kilgharrah assured him. "It was meant for people without magical training to use in times of crisis. Anything too esoteric would be beyond their capabilities."

"You're right," Merlin agreed, relieved. Even if it were more difficult to use than Kilgharrah thought, Gaius was smart and had a copy of the grimoire. He could easily figure it out. "Can you bring it to me?"

Kilgharrah's wings unfurled. "I shall."

The dragon was off in a flurry of wings and wind. Merlin watched him go with a smile that quickly faded as his friend flew out of sight. If he'd been smart, he'd have brought something to do while he waited for Kilgharrah to get the Key. The grimoire, probably, which he had yet to read and wouldn't be able to read on the road surrounded by knights. Did he have enough time to run back, grab the grimoire, and bring it here to read? He would, except he had no idea how long it would take Kilgharrah to get the Raven's Key. So, with nothing better to do, he went back to thinking about Arthur and his secret and what he was considering doing about them.

Needless to say, the warlock was very relieved when his friend returned.

In the morning, he would give the Raven's Key to Gaius before packing up Arthur's things and getting on the road. For now, though, he would go back to his bed and curl up and hope he could fall asleep.

He couldn't.

* * *

This was Arthur's last chance. After today—in just an hour or so, in fact—he would leave Camelot for at least a week and a half, probably a bit more than a fortnight. If he wanted answers (which he did), he needed them now.

The prince was almost proud of himself for his plan. He'd asked his father if they could break their fasts together, a way of saying goodbye. There was nobody with them except his father's manservant, who was flitting in and out of the room with a truly prodigious quantity of food (Merlin had to finish packing). If he sent the servant off to the kitchens for pears—one of the few food items that he _hadn't_ already brought them—then he'd have time for a much-needed conversation.

"Before I leave Camelot," he said carefully, "there is a security concern that I would like to address, something about the threat of Emrys."

Uther looked up at that, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Cold suspicion hardened his eyes. He said nothing, waiting instead for his son to continue.

Arthur decided that this was a good sign. "Cornelius Sigan mentioned that he thought _this_ Emrys might be the real one. A few weeks ago, you mentioned that Emrys was only calling himself that." He leaned forward, breakfast forgotten. "If this imposter is laying claim to some sort of magical title, Father, I need to know what exactly it is."

"No, you do not."

The prince pulled up short. He hadn't expected such a point-blank denial.

"Why not?"

"Because you have proven yourself incapable of remembering that _he is our enemy_."

Arthur scrambled about mentally for an excuse. "Because he's using me," he improvised. "I—I came to understand that in the dungeons. That's why I need to know what he's pretending to be. If I knew that, I might better understand what he's trying to use me for. I could better protect myself." Internally, he patted himself on the back for improvising such a good excuse.

Uther was significantly less impressed. "You can protect yourself by killing him immediately the next time he appears. Then you are to burn his corpse and bring me his blackened skull."

"…Right," Arthur said, a bit faintly. Didn't his father _understand_ that—oh, who the hell was he kidding? He'd nearly executed Leon and Geoffrey (mostly Leon), who had served him loyally for years and decades respectively, because they had reacted to magic with something less than automatic viciousness. He'd locked his only son and heir in a cell for not immediately slaughtering the only person who could protect Camelot from Cornelius Sigan. And hadn't he once hinted that he would execute Gaius once because he blamed the physician's magical theory lessons for inspiring Arthur to stand up for the druids?

Perhaps he should ask Emrys directly next time they met.

…He probably shouldn't be so blasé about treasonous communications with a known lawbreaker, but Arthur found that it was getting much harder for him to care about that sort of thing.

Between the failure of his grand master plan, the forced departure to Tintagel, the ongoing threat of Cornelius Sigan, and the knowledge that there wasn't a whole lot he could do to stop Sigan even if he hadn't been unceremoniously sent away from the danger zone, Arthur found himself in a foul mood as he stalked towards the stables. He and his father had said their (stiff, uncomfortable) goodbyes after finishing breakfast, and now he had to mill about the stinky stables as the king spoke with his ward.

"Something wrong, sire?"

Merlin punctuated his question with a yawn. The boy was wan and drawn, with huge dark bags hanging beneath his eyes. His insomnia had obviously been acting up again.

"Yes," Arthur told him curtly, making it very clear to any normal person that he was in no mood to discuss this further.

Merlin nodded. "Okay. You want to talk about it?"

There was nothing to throw, so Arthur settled for smacking his manservant on the back of the head.

"Come on," the boy whined defensively. "I just wanted to see if I could help!"

Arthur snorted. "Unless you can tell me about these ancient secret prophecies that apparently feature my magical shadow, there's nothing you can do."

Merlin pulled up short, his bleary eyes going wide.

"You're joking," Arthur said, incredulous. "How would _you_ of all people know about this?"

Merlin's gaze darted about, ascertaining that nobody was listening. Still, his voice was low as he murmured, "In _Camelot_ , it's illegal to talk about this, pain of death. It's different in Essetir, but since we're in your father's kingdom now, could you maybe _not_ let on that I know about it?"

Arthur glanced over to the stable doors. Morgana was entering, Guinevere at her heels. Arthur smiled at them, waved in greeting, before returning his attention to his manservant. "We'll talk in the woods," he muttered.

"What, surrounded by—"

"Ready to go, Morgana?" Arthur called, striding towards them.

His foster sister nodded. "It will be good to see Tintagel again," she said, the faintest of smiles curving her lips.

"What about you, Guinevere? Have you been to Tintagel before?"

She smiled at him, lovely even in her drab gray riding dress. "No, but Lady Morgana has told me so much about it that I feel like I have."

"She did the same with me," Arthur told her.

The four of them made light conversation as they rode through the city and into the forest. Arthur was glad of the distraction. Not only was he painfully curious about Emrys, but his people were looking at him with fear and something like betrayal as he and his party passed them by. He was their prince, their protector, and he was abandoning them to Cornelius Sigan.

As he led his group through the city gates, Arthur offered up a silent prayer that Emrys would keep Camelot safe in his absence.

"Is something wrong?" Guinevere asked him, her brown eyes concerned. She stiffened suddenly, hands flying to her mouth. "Did you and Merlin have a fight?"

"Not at all," Arthur assured her quickly. "I just dislike leaving my people when there's a centuries-old lunatic on the loose."

She nodded. "The people of Camelot are strong," she reminded him, "and Sigan is likely planning through his next scheme. You have time, Arthur." Her hand brushed his arm before pulling away quickly.

Like him, Guinevere knew that a prince and a maidservant could never be.

Arthur swallowed hard. "You're right, of course," he murmured. "Thank you." In a louder, sharper voice, he called, "Merlin!"

"We're scouting ahead already?" the servant whined.

Arthur almost asked what his servant was talking about before he realized that the man was covering for him. By all the gods, when had Merlin gotten that cunning? First the lie about Excalibur, now making it look like they really _weren't_ just sneaking off to talk about something illegal. He even had the right body language.

Except, the prince realized with a start, he'd _always_ been that way. He'd stuck a neckerchief on Mordred and paraded him about in broad daylight, convincing everyone in the citadel and Arthur himself that the druid boy was his little brother. And those were just the lies that Arthur had caught him in.

Merlin surreptitiously elbowed him. Realizing he hadn't yet answered, Arthur blurted out, "Yes."

It was not his best comeback, but he dragged his manservant ahead before anybody could comment.

"What do you know about Emrys?" he asked once they were far enough ahead to not be overheard.

Merlin's eyes widened in alarm as he flinched, which was a silly reaction from someone who knew that this would be a topic of conversation. He hesitated, uncharacteristically nervous.

"Well?"

Merlin closed his eyes, swallowed hard. His shoulders straightened, though, and when he reopened his eyes, they were firm and resolute.

"It is said that there are prophecies written on the bones of the land, prophecies about a warlock mage and the king he serves. They say that there will come a time of smoke and darkness, when the greatest of gifts is warped into a curse and the eternal flame is reduced to s stuttering ember. But then they will come: the Once and Future King. The People's Queen. The Royal Witch. The Knights of the Round Table. Emrys. Together, they will lift the old king's shadow from the land and unite all the warring kingdoms of the Isle of the Mighty to form the great nation of Albion." Merlin tilted his head at Arthur. He wasn't blinking. "It's said that the Once and Future King will be the greatest king to ever live."

To be honest, Arthur had sort of half-suspected that it would be something like that. It made sense that if Emrys was fighting the Purge, he'd lay claim to the title of someone destined to fight against—and overthrow—Purge-like conditions. The rest of it, though? That, he hadn't expected.

"A… Once and Future King, you say?"

No, he had not expected that.

Arthur's voice was tiny and almost afraid, because the title felt as right and natural as his own name.

"That would be you."

Arthur cringed.

"If it helps, Arthur, I think that you're going to do a good job of it. And I think that the People's Queen is supposed to be of commoner blood, so it sounds like you might have a chance of marrying Gwen. And I'm pretty sure that Leon's one of your Knights of the Round Table, so at least you'll have—"

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Quit thinking. You'll hurt yourself. And _shut up._ "

Arthur spurred his horse into a canter. Merlin followed, of course—it was impossible to get rid of the boy even when he would really rather be left alone—but he had the decency to stay at a reasonable distance until noon, when he brought his master back to the main party for lunch.

The prince stayed with the rest of the party after that, speaking to no one unless spoken to first, and then only in monosyllables. He was quiet all day, caught up in the turmoil of his own thoughts.

He was also a figure of prophecy.

He was supposedly destined to undo everything his father stood for.

…At least he might possibly be able to marry Guinevere, but that thought caused its own turmoil and confusion as he imagined the potential political ramifications and tried to figure out how that was even possible.

So it was no wonder that he was distant and quiet all day, ignoring his companions and barely noticing when they arrived at an inn for supper and shelter. Merlin, thankfully, respected his wishes, even convincing everyone else to back off for a bit (at least, that's what Arthur thought he'd been doing in his hushed conversation with Guinevere and Morgana). Even Sir Leon gave up trying to talk with him after being rebuffed for the third time.

Then Merlin poked him in the face, startling him out of his contemplations.

Arthur glared. The manservant was unrepentant. "Your supper got here a couple minutes ago. If you wait much longer, it'll get cold."

The prince sighed but admitted to himself that Merlin was right. He really didn't want a cold supper.

Still, his reverie had been broken, so he noticed when Guinevere let out a shocked gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. Arthur was instantly on the alert, following her gaze to the entrance of the inn to see a dark-haired man in a white tunic staring at the maid with an expression of stunned recognition. "Gwen?" he asked.

Guinevere rose to her feet, her meal forgotten. She nodded.

The man's face brightened as a familiar smile spread across it. "It's really you!"

Then they were hugging, identical smiles gracing their faces. "Gods, I've missed you," the man said.

"I've missed you too, Elyan."

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Arthur Starts Becoming Suspicious of Merlin's Surprisingly Good Lying Skills, Which Means It's Probably a Good Thing that Merlin is Considering Coming Clean"_

Next chapter: February 3. Gwen catches up with her brother, Merlin and Morgana have a chat,we maybe get some Alator POV back in Camelot, and Arthur... learns a secret that has been kept from him for a very long time.

-Antares


	14. Secrets

Chapter 14: Secrets

" _No_."

Merlin blinked at her, confusion clouding his eyes. " _Why not_?"

Morgana bit her lip, flinched away from him. Her eyes settled on the uncharacteristically quiet Arthur, who was riding at the head of their small column, a pensive frown on his face. He was obviously contemplating the knowledge about the prophecies that Merlin had given him. " _I just…. I don't think it's a good idea to tell him yet_."

" _That's what I thought at first_ ," Merlin confessed, " _but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Blaise was right. There is a window of opportunity, and I don't want to miss it_."

" _Arthur has spent the last twenty years listening to his father rant and rave about how magic is evil and needs to be destroyed. He needs more time_."

" _But he's changed so much_!" Merlin exclaimed. " _He once asked me—well, Emrys me—to teleport him. I mean, yes, that was to get away from a magical haunted lake, but he still took up Excalibur and gave me permission to bring him home magically. And I don't think that he's ever been as rabidly anti-magic as Uther. When is the last time that he hurt a spellbinder who wasn't trying to kill him_?"

The lady cringed.

" _Morgana_?" Merlin pulled up short, nearly riding his horse into a tree for lack of attention. Gwen, who was only listening in on their psychic conversation (without magic, she couldn't speak, only hear. Merlin had mentioned that there was probably a way to let her speak, too, but he didn't know how.) " _What's wrong_?"

He didn't know. He probably should, though, so Morgana would have to tell him, and in a contingent of six Camelot soldiers, too.

" _He's led raids, Merlin_."

Merlin's brow crinkled. Gwen flinched at the reminder. " _You mean like when Uther makes him and the guards search everybody's possessions for evidence of magic_?"

" _That too_ ," Morgana admitted, " _but he's also led… other kinds of raids. On druid camps, Merlin. Three times, plus a fourth attempt when he couldn't find the camp_."

"… _What_?" The warlock's mental voice was small and broken, his eyes huge.

" _He led raids, Merlin. He didn't like it and he felt guilty afterwards, but he still did it. He wanted to make his father proud, so he did it_."

Gwen was frowning at her, looking like she desperately wanted to say something, but her lack of magic kept her silent.

" _When_?"

" _The last raid—the one when he couldn't find anything—he got back just a few days before you arrived in Camelot_."

Merlin frowned, his gaze distant. " _So why did Uther stop sending him out on raids, then_?"

" _How should I know_?" Morgana demanded. " _All I know is that Arthur Pendragon has led raids against the druids. He needs more time, Merlin. You have to be absolutely certain that he won't betray you_."

" _But he can't betray me_ ," Merlin pointed out. " _He's got enough sense to realize that Cornelius Sigan can't be defeated except with magic. Isn't it better to tell him when he can't send me away?_ "

Gwen nodded a bit too vigorously. Sir Leon, who was not at all privy to the silent conversation, looked extremely confused.

" _Anyways_ ," Merlin continued, " _it's not like I'd be telling him about you, not without permission. He doesn't have to know if you don't want him to_."

" _Which I don't_ ," Morgana replied promptly.

" _Okay then. It'll just be me_."

" _So you really do intend to tell him_?"

Merlin looked down at his saddle, his gaze distant. "… _I think so, yes._ "

Now it was Morgana's turn to nearly fall off her horse. " _Were you not listening?_ "

" _Of course I was listening. I_ —"

"Morgana?" This voice was speaking out loud, to her ears rather than to her mind. "Is everything all right?" Leon asked.

Morgana's cheeks heated up. "We're perfectly fine, Leon."

"Are you sure?" The knight's tone was politely dubious. "Because you look very, ah, distracted."

"I'm sure."

"All right then," he muttered.

To stave off awkwardness and change the subject to something more palatable, Morgana changed the subject to Tintagel. Merlin, who had never heard this before, and Gwen, who had, were both attentive listeners. When Morgana was done, Merlin started talking about Ealdor. Morgana and Gwen had been there, of course, but they'd only stayed for a couple of days. Besides, the town had been preparing for battle with bandits while they were there, and those were hardly normal circumstances. Even Gwen talked a little bit about her childhood in Sir Leodegrance's household.

But no matter how cheery and light their conversation might be, none of the three speakers forgot what they _weren't_ talking about.

Morgana could only hope that Merlin would see sense, that he would realize that Arthur _did_ in fact need more time. But this was Merlin, so she very much doubted that he would.

Her dreams that night were dark and troubled, full of rejection and tears. She woke tense and frightened, a sharp contrast to Gwen, whose reunion with her brother the previous night had put her in a good mood.

Elyan had been on his way back to Camelot, he'd told his sister last night. He'd heard about Cornelius Sigan and was worried about his family, so he'd swallowed his pride and gritted his teeth and started walking. He'd picked up a few skills in his years away, and he wanted to protect him.

That was very sweet of him, Gwen had replied, but sword skills aren't much use against power like Sigan's. Elyan disagreed, Gwen disagreed with his disagreement, and before anyone knew it, they were arguing like only siblings could. Arthur, alarmed, had intervened, pointing out that they were going to Tintagel, so Guinevere wasn't in any danger.

Elyan had stared at him in horror for a few moments before announcing that the road to Tintagel was crawling with bandits, and if his sword really was useless against undead mages, he was coming with them.

Now three members of their newly expanded party (Leon, Elyan, and one of the guards) were breaking their collective fast in the common room. Elyan smiled, rose to greet his sister. "Leon gave me a job as a guard," he told her.

"So you really are coming with us?" Gwen asked, looking startled.

"Yes." Elyan's face was grim and determined. "I couldn't convince them to turn back, so I'm going with you. You'll be at least a little safer that way."

"Are the bandits truly that bad?" Morgana queried, incredulous.

"Bandits and slavers," Elyan sighed. "You'll need all the help you can get, my lady."

Morgana made a mental note to have words with Cador about that.

Leon abruptly heaved a heavy sigh, rose to his feet, and went marching off. Knowing him, he was searching for the other guards.

"Are the rumors true?" Elyan asked once the knight was out of sight. His voice had dropped in volume, and he stared at the door Leon had gone through.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Gwen pointed out.

"That he was temporarily arrested on suspicion of aiding a sorcerer."

"Oh! That."

"He _was_? _Leon_?"

"He wasn't exactly aiding the spellbinder, he was just… a bit too hesitant for Uther's tastes."

"But he actually got arrested?"

"Temporarily. Arthur too."

Elyan's gaze sharpened. "That's another rumor I've heard. They're saying that he doesn't just sympathize with magic, he was born because of a spell."

"I was what?"

Slowly, Morgana and the siblings turned around. Sure enough, Arthur stood there, shock and befuddlement writ plain upon his face. "I was born from a spell?"

Oh, gods. With everything that had been going on, Morgana had completely forgotten about this part of Merlin's 'word and deed' scheme. Now, though, she could clearly remember Morgause (who was _not_ her sister) telling her stunned audience why Uther had really instigated the Purge.

Elyan fidgeted. "It's only a rumor, sire."

"Still, I want to hear it."

Morgana braced herself. Hopefully Arthur wouldn't believe it. If he did….

…then his reaction would _not_ be pretty.

* * *

Arthur listened in silent disbelief as Elyan reluctantly told him what was supposedly the real story of his birth. His parents, desperate for an heir, had gone to Nimueh. The priestess had created him from magic and death—possibly the intended victim's, possibly his mother's—and after Ygraine had perished in childbed, Uther had blamed magic for his loss. The Purge was not a war on evil, out-of-control spellbinders. It was one man's revenge for a death that might not have been magical in the first place.

He didn't want it to be true, but….

Nimueh, balance, and timing. He'd never heard the name Nimueh before she started terrorizing the citadel, so how could random gossips know about her? Then there was the principle of balance. Gaius had told him once, back during Arthur's lessons about magical theory, that sometimes, people were so far gone that only another person's death could save them. He was fairly certain that that was what had happened when he'd been bitten by a Questing Beast. Emrys had killed Nimueh then, and her death had enabled him to save Arthur. As for timing, the Purge had begun very shortly after his birth, so shortly that the Day of Pyres had dawned mere hours after his mother's funeral.

It rang true. May the gods help him, it rang true.

Merlin and Morgana were staring at him like he was a burning flourmill, ready to explode at any moment. Guinevere was nervously chewing her lip. Elyan looked like he regretted saying anything.

"It's not necessarily true, of course," the wanderer reminded him. "People say all sorts of things, sire, but that doesn't make them true."

"But it could be," Arthur ground out. It _was_. His fists were clenched, trembling. "Like the rumors about Sigan. Where did you hear this?"

"A tavern about a day's walk north," he admitted. "There was more talk about Sigan, though, and things going on in Camelot today."

Arthur stood, nearly knocking over his chair, and stalked towards the stables. His breathing was loud, even harsh in his own ears.

"Arthur?" Merlin called, alarmed. Of course the fool was following him. Arthur grimaced and resolved not to answer him. Maybe he'd actually _get the hint_ for once in his stupid life. "What are you doing?"

The prince kept silent. There was a ringing in his ears, a subtle red haze tinting everything and everyone around him.

Then Merlin was there in front of him, Merlin and Morgana and Guinevere. Between them, they blocked the exit.

"Step aside," Arthur ordered, a growl in his voice.

"Not until you promise not to do anything stupid," Morgana retorted.

His nails dug into his palms with almost enough force to draw blood. "I told you to _step aside_."

"Are you trying to go back to Camelot?" Guinevere asked him.

"I," Arthur replied, "am going to talk to my father."

The three miscreants blocking his way exchanged immensely skeptical looks. Arthur forged ahead, shouldering his way between Merlin and Morgana.

Guinevere grabbed his arm. "I think you need to calm down before you—"

Arthur pushed her off, his gaze fixed on the stables.

"Sire?" Leon rounded a corner, the rest of the guards on his heels. "Is something wrong?"

He rounded on his knight, a roar escaping from his throat. " _YES_!"

Leon stepped away, eyes wide.

"My father is a hypocrite and a murderer," he snarled, not caring that they were in public, not caring that anyone might see them and hear his words and learn his father's greatest secret. "Do you know why he started the Purge, Leon? Do you?"

He shook his head, wordless.

"Because he lost my mother to his own stupidity and was too much of a _coward_ to accept the blame!"

With that, Arthur whirled away, stomped towards the stables. No one tried to stop him.

Except that they _were_ trying to stop him, because Merlin and Guinevere had taken advantage of Leon's inadvertent distraction to steal all their riding tack. They stood in front of it with identical expressions of determination.

Arthur wanted to scream, but he bottled the rage—when had he gotten so angry?—and forced it deep inside himself. "Get out of my way."

"It can wait," Merlin said to him. He sounded like he was trying to calm down an attacking dog. "I know you, Arthur, and I know that if you attack your father, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"You're _wrong_. He deserves it."

"Yes," Merlin agreed, "but you don't."

Arthur froze, pulling up short. For some reason, Merlin's words managed to penetrate the red haze of rage clouding his thoughts.

"Arthur?" Guinevere's voice was soft, gentle, concerned. "Are you all right?"

There was a long moment of silence. The prince's fists unclenched, blood circulating back into his fingers. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to stand strong.

"…Damn him."

* * *

Their first day in Camelot was uneventful. Sigan did not do anything. Neither did Uther. By the end of the day, one of his apprentices predicted that the rest of their stay would be just as uneventful.

Alator knew better.

Sure enough, just after dawn on the second day, red-cloaked guards and knights boiled out of the castle and into the town. It was the most brutal raid (at least for residents of the city) in years. Doors were broken down, mattresses torn, possessions scattered carelessly on the floor.

Most of the peasants knew better than to resist. They had survived Camelot for this long, after all, and while this was by far the most violent Uther had been for quite some time, his regular searches were hardly gentle. Only a few were fool enough to resist.

Throughout it all, Alator ghosted after one particularly vicious team of guards. He and his apprentices were linked mentally, relaying information about which houses had been searched, where the guards were heading, how many had been arrested.

The two youngest boys were sent ahead to spread word. This was probably not necessary, as gossip likely would have alerted people anyways, but Alator had always felt that it was better to be safe than sorry. Hopefully the boys' words would reach at least one person who needed to hear them, who needed time to hide things that the bloodcloaks might interpret as sorcerous.

There were three other spellbinders in the city, three minds that Alator contacted through thought-speech. Hide your things and lay low, he advised them. If you have tattoos, veil them in illusion. Plan how you're going to interact with the hunters.

Still, by the end of the day, four people were dead, and almost a hundred and fifty had been crammed into Camelot's dungeons. Bloodcloaks ringed the city, prowling around its inner and outer walls. More of their number stood guard in the overflowing dungeons, swords and throwing knives at the ready. If anyone tried to escape, they would die.

"We need to save them," Erik said. He was young, the youngest of their group, with all the recklessness and impulsiveness of youth. "We can't just let the Butcher murder them."

"We will not," Alator assured him, "but we need information first. Stay here. I will return shortly."

"But—"

"That is an _order_ , Erik."

"…Yes, Master Alator."

Parts of Camelot's citadel retained their ancient wards. Unfortunately, the dungeons were one of those places, so Alator couldn't scry them. He needed another source of information. Fortunately, he knew where to find such a source.

The physician Gaius was mildly infamous in the magical world. A former sorcerer, he had turned his back on magic in order to continue serving Uther, who had granted him a pardon. Officially, the pardon had been solely for giving up sorcery, but there were darker whispers that Gaius had bought his life with names and blood. Alator didn't know how true those rumors were, but Lord Emrys—Embries, as the Catha called him in their prophecies—vouched for him, so he would at least give the physician a chance.

Still, he went alone. If the physician betrayed him, he could teleport himself out much more easily than he could transport his apprentices.

Despite the heightened security, Alator was able to walk right into the castle. He was dressed in civilian clothing and clutched his arm to his chest, a pained expression masking his real intent. "Which way to the physician?" he asked one of the guards.

He didn't drop his act until he was safe within the physician's chambers, which were empty save for him and Gaius. The older man arched an eyebrow. "How may I help you?" he asked slowly, suspiciously.

They were alone, but Alator still kept his voice quiet as he explained his identity and purpose.

Gaius nodded along, looking old and tired and not at all surprised. "Did you intend to rescue them tonight, or were you going to wait until after their trials?"

"How likely is the Butcher to find them innocent?"

The former sorcerer winced. "Not likely, I'm afraid, but in the mood he's in…. He's likely to cart them from the courtroom to the pyre directly. I would recommend saving them sooner rather than later."

Alator had expected as much. "My party lacks the numbers required to break a hundred and fifty people out of the dungeons. Do you know if there are any druids nearby?"

"Only one, I'm afraid." Gaius tilted his head, a thoughtful frown on his face. "His name is Blaise."

"I'll have to teleport, then, in order to find reinforcements. There are too many guards." One of the three other spellbinders he'd sensed earlier that day had been captured, but the other two remained free. They could be of use, assuming that they knew the proper spells. Otherwise, he would need wizards and mages powerful enough to teleport….

Gaius's voice interrupted his planning. "I might be able to help with that."

"Your aid is welcome, but we will still need others." Alator stood. "I need to contact my men. The sooner we send out our call for aid, the better."

To his surprise, the physician's face broke out into an almost impish grin. "You don't need to."

"There are too many guards," Alator pointed out. "Unless you have an army—"

The smile widened. Alator paused. "You have something," he guessed. "An artifact?"

"Yes," Gaius replied. "I have the Raven's Key."

* * *

...So I'm a week late, and on a cliffie, too. I'm sorry. I'll... try to do better next time.

Next update: March 3. Gaius and Alator enact their plan, and Arthur et al arrive in Tintagel.

Congratulations to those of you who figured out that Arthur wasn't learning THE Secret this chapter.

Alternate chapter title: _"Wherein Uther is a Jerk and Everyone, Including Arthur, Recognizes his Jerkiness"_


	15. Breakouts and Bandits

Chapter XV: Breakouts and Bandits

The alarm bells were ringing.

It was a bit hard to believe, Gaius thought, watching the guards pour out of the dungeons, that the bells were ringing because of something he had done. Admittedly, the ringers had no reason to suspect that the court physician was behind the stone creatures roaming through the night. They almost certainly blamed Cornelius Sigan, and it was completely logical that they would do so. But Gaius knew the truth, knew that he was the one who had turned the Raven's Key and unleashed the monsters, and it was strange to think that _he_ of all people could cause such chaos and panic. Usually, it was Merlin who did things like that.

But it was for a good cause, he reminded himself. There were a hundred and fifty people crowded into Uther's dungeons, and most if not all of them would die if they didn't escape.

Half of the stone creatures were roaming through the city, causing more chaos and panic than actual damage. They weren't going to hurt anyone, just cause a distraction and lure off as many soldiers as possible. The rest—smaller and more maneuverable, able to fit into the dungeons without crowding the Catha too badly—were to accompany Alator and his men, providing backup and security and broken iron bars as they broke people out.

There were no more guards emerging from the dungeons. Gaius glanced at Alator, who nodded and signaled to his men. A few whispered words later, the Catha vanished, cloaked in invisibility. They padded towards the dungeons on silent feet, trailed by the stone guardians that Gaius had been keeping in reserve.

It took less concentration than he had expected to wield the Raven's Key. The golems needed very little instruction after their initial orders, and though Gaius was keeping his mental eyes peeled, they hadn't even tried to hurt someone yet. Still, he wasn't about to let his guard down.

In the event of an attack, the court physician was supposed to be in his chambers unless ordered onto the field. Gaius hastened back to the infirmary, where he began arranging medicines and boiling bandages. The constructs controlled by the Raven's Key would not harm the guards, but Gaius wasn't supposed to know that. Besides, Alator and his Catha were under no such restrictions. He would likely need to tend to some of the guards who had remained in the dungeons while their fellows ran out to fight the gargoyles.

The plan was simple: golems to cause a distraction, other golems to help in the dungeons, Catha to guide the prisoners away. They would get onto the main road as soon as possible, travel along it through the rest of the night and splitting into smaller groups once the sun rose. By that time, the messages that Alator had sent out would have been received. Druids and other spellbinders would come for them, some to provide aid and distraction, others to teleport exhausted escapees—the ones incapable of moving on—to the Isle of the Blessed. Everyone else would press into Essetir. Uther could not follow them there, not without risking war.

Hopefully, he wouldn't risk war.

Eventually (if Uther didn't risk war, if they weren't caught before reaching the safety of Essetir, if Cenred didn't somehow catch word of the mass escape, if they didn't run into bandits or soldiers, if, if, if), the escapees would probably all end up on the Isle of the Blessed, at least for a little while. A few might move in with their relatives in the country, but Gaius suspected that most people wouldn't want to risk bringing Uther's wrath down upon their families' heads. He certainly wouldn't.

The physician paused briefly, reaching out with his mind to make certain that the golems under his control hadn't hurt anyone. They hadn't. The ones in the city proper were mostly leading the guards on a merry chase, while most of the statues in the dungeons had formed an impenetrable barrier between the guards and the Catha. Others broke down cell doors, and a few others guarded the entrance to the dungeons. Gaius was about to pull his awareness away when a flash of crimson caught his gaze.

It took him several moments to realize what must have happened, why one of the prisoners had drawn a dagger from his clothing and stabbed one of the Catha—a young fellow with hair halfway between brown and blond, someone whose cloak was dark blue and whose face was vaguely heart-shaped—through the neck. Then he recognized the killer (for there was no way that the young Catha could have survived a wound like that), realized who he really was.

There were guards hidden among the prisoners, bloodcloaks disguised as ordinary victims of Uther's hate. Uther or Donald, the new captain of the guard, had anticipated a rescue attempt and scattered spies and assassins among the prisoners.

Gaius's heart stuttered as his mind raced through the implications.

If there was one guard, then surely there were others. How many, though, and what were their orders? Were they meant to kill the rescuers (or, he realized with a chill, the rescuer who looked most like Emrys) or were they supposed to follow them, betray the location of the prisoners' haven?

This first guard, the one who had murdered a man who looked like Emrys, was dead, struck down already by one of the surviving Catha. The others were alive. Infiltration, then. It must be infiltration.

Alator's expression indicated that he had come to the same conclusion. Eyes wide and face livid, the warrior mage looked from the guards to the prisoners and back again. Grimacing, he gave a sharp nod, began barking orders.

"We'll question them later! For now, follow the plan!"

Swallowing hard, Gaius returned his attention to the physician's chambers. His hands shook as he resumed his work.

Hopefully, Alator's Catha would be able to root out all the guards before bringing the prisoners to safety. Hopefully, the townsfolk would be willing and able to identify the enemies in their midst.

If not, the Isle of the Blessed was in grave danger.

* * *

Arthur's foul mood had not abated in the slightest.

To be honest, they were all in rather unpleasant moods by the fifth day of their journey, and Merlin was very much looking forward to their incipient arrival at Tintagel. He probably shouldn't think like this, because Arthur was his friend and was obviously having a hard time coming to terms with everything he'd learned on their surprisingly eventful trip, but it would be nice to get away from the prince for awhile. Gwen, Morgana, and Leon had helped him keep an eye on Arthur, helped prevent their friend's attitude from getting even worse, but it was something of an uphill battle.

Besides—as Leon had quietly pointed out to him a few hours after they departed the inn—it was hardly fair to put this burden on Morgana and Gwen. The former was returning to her beloved childhood home after being away for years. The latter had just reunited with her estranged brother and deserved to spend time with him.

Morgana had overheard. She'd butted in then, commenting that while of course Leon was right about Gwen and Elyan, she still had a few days before they arrived at Tintagel.

Leon had just sighed. He'd known better than to argue.

Still, even with the leftover happiness of the siblings' reunion, a dark pallor hung over the group as it traveled through Cador's territory. The fact that it was raining—not even proper rain but a slow, miserable gray drizzle that sank through their clothes and into their bones—only made things worse.

Merlin's boots were caked with mud, his hair plastered to his head. He was seriously debating the benefits of casting a drying charm on his socks when a gray-and-brown blur whizzed past his face and pierced Harold's throat.

The guardsman fell instantly, blood gurgling from his wound and soaking into his shirt. Every warrior drew his sword, instinctively moving the horses to surround Morgana and Gwen.

Merlin slid off his horse, making for the wounded man, but it was too late. Harold was gone.

He and the guardsman were not particularly close. Harold was quite vehement in his opposition to magic and had made it quietly clear that he didn't see anything wrong with Uther's reasons for starting the Purge. That had not helped with Arthur's mood, so the rest of the party had been surreptitiously keeping him away from the prince. But he told hilarious stories at the campfire, and one of the other guards went to him for advice about his marriage. If not for his dislike of magic, he and Merlin could have been friends.

It was too late, now, for Harold to change his mind about magic. It was too late for him to do anything. He was dead.

Merlin stood, took stock of the situation. Arthur had led a charge against the trio of men ahead of them, but the terrain was against the royal party. They had been traveling downhill through a narrow gorge between two steep hills. Bandits stood on those hills, and a glance back revealed that there were bandits behind them, too. Like their comrades on the hillsides, they held wickedly curved bows, nocked and aimed at the fighters' backs.

Golden eyes flared. One of the bandits on the northern hillside yelped as an invisible fist grabbed ahold of his pant leg and yanked. He fell into an uncontrolled roll, knocking over two of his fellows as he tumbled down. Spinning on his heel, Merlin repeated the process for someone on the southern hillside. This one knocked over three men as collateral damage. Practice makes perfect indeed.

Except the first bandit he'd knocked over was climbing to his feet, a bit bruised but otherwise uninjured. Apparently the two men with whom he'd collided (one completely unconscious, one motionless and moaning) had cushioned his fall. "SHOOT THEM!" he roared. "We'll take the money from their—"

" _Swefne_!" cried a woman's voice.

Merlin's heart froze. No, no, Morgana couldn't have just done that. She was so vehemently opposed to Merlin revealing himself, she wouldn't have used magic so loud and clear right in front of Arthur and a half-dozen guards.

(The part of him that wasn't panicking wondered how Arthur was about to react.)

Except then a man's voice called out the same spell, felling two more bandits. Merlin met Morgana's stunned, confused gaze. She shook her head.

That was right. He hadn't even taught her that spell yet, and though he'd shown her his spell book, she hadn't really had much time to look through it, what with all the preparations and such. It couldn't have been her.

Which meant it was someone else.

Well, if someone was using magic, Merlin could help. He mouthed the words to the sleep spell, pushing out with his mind until the rest of the bandits collapsed.

It occurred to him a moment later that it might not be safe to use his own magic, that whoever had saved them might not have come to the rescue for benevolent reasons. After all, they were traveling under Uther's banner, and surely word had spread that Arthur had been sent to Tintagel? Then, as other voices joined the fray, he finally realized what was going on.

Word and deed.

Merlin's smile nearly split his face.

He'd told the people of magic to fight back, to perform blatantly obvious good deeds with their art before hurriedly retreating into the shadows. Nobody had been stupid enough to try anything like this in Camelot proper (except Emrys, of course), but rumors had nonetheless trickled in, quiet and persistent. A hooded stranger lifting the blight destroying a man's field. A wandering child led home by two women with distinctive tattoos. And stories like this one, tales of travelers protected from bandits by shouted words and powerful hand gestures.

The bandits were down, subdued by spellbinders. Aside from Harold, the entire party was safe.

The tears that rose to Merlin's eyes had nothing to do with Harold's death.

"Does he need healing?"

The warlock turned. There was a woman standing several feet behind him, her dark robes kilted over deerskin leggings. She gestured at Harold with the very obviously magical staff in her nut-brown hands.

Merlin shook his head. "The arrow took him in the throat," he called back, pitching his voice so that Arthur and the others could hear too. "He is beyond your healing, but thank you for the offer."

"Ah. I am sorry for your loss," the woman said. Her eyes roved over the rest of the party, probably searching for anyone else who might be wounded badly enough to require magical attention. Finding no one, she turned on her heel to leave.

"Wait!" Arthur cried.

The woman hesitated. Biting her lip, she took in the red cloaks, the shining mail, the unsheathed weapons. Her gaze lingered for a long moment on the Pendragon banner, the golden dragon on its field of blood. Then, giving a little shudder, she ran.

Merlin really couldn't blame her for that.

Arthur cursed, kicking his horse into action. His steed thundered towards where the spellbinder woman had gone.

"Are you crazy?" Merlin yelled, throwing himself into the horse's path. The stallion reared, its hooves dangerously close to his head. "She's terrified, you bloody arse!"

"If she's afraid, then why did she help us?" the prince demanded.

"Because some things mean more than fear, _obviously_."

"So what makes talking to me not worth the fear?"

Merlin sighed. "It's one thing to save you lot from a distance. It's another thing entirely to get within stabbing range of a bunch of bloodcloaks or to have Uther Pendragon's son chasing you."

Arthur slumped, scowled, then heaved a heavy sigh. "Thank you!" he called.

Merlin smiled again.

Arthur climbed down from his horse, inspected Harold's body. He sighed again, deeper and heavier.

"It was quick," Merlin said quietly, his cheer fading. "I don't think he suffered."

"That's something, I suppose," Arthur muttered. He ran his hand through his hair. "Morgana, how much longer until we reach the castle?"

"Two or three hours, nothing more," she assured him.

The prince grimaced. "Bold bastards. Leon, do we have any rope?"

"Not enough for all of them," the knight replied.

Arthur thought for a long moment. "Leon, Morgana, Guinevere. You three ride ahead to the castle and tell Cador what happened. Have him bring guards and shovels." He unclasped his cloak, laid it down over the corpse.

"Yes, sire," Leon murmured. The women nodded. All three made their way forward.

"The rest of us are going to disarm the bandits and round them up as best we can. Merlin, how long are the sleep spells going to last?"

The warlock froze, eyes enormous. "Why would I know?"

"Because you're Gaius's apprentice, you idiot."

"Oh." That was a relief. "I think… at least five hours. Certainly long enough for Cador to get here." Especially since he could just put people back to sleep if they stirred.

"Good. Now let's get started."

* * *

IMPORTANT AN: You've probably noticed that I haven't been able to keep my update schedule. My life is really busy at the moment. I've even had to push back the date for my thesis, which sucks. The point is, I need to put this story on HIATUS until July, at which point I fully intend to make an updating schedule and actually stick to it. I'm sorry, guys, but my thesis takes priority. Thank you for being patient.

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Gaius Reveals that He Too Can Raise Hell Even When Merlin is Away"_


	16. The Truth

Chapter XVI: The Truth

"You all right, Arthur?"

The prince sighed heavily, resisting the urge to flop onto his bed. It was barely noon, after all, and he'd already slept in later than he'd planned. He had lunch with Cador soon, so it wouldn't do to take a nap.

"Arthur?" Merlin sounded genuinely worried this time.

"I'm fine, Merlin," the prince grumbled.

"You don't look fine," was his manservant's skeptical response. "You've been glaring at that parchment ever since we got back from the tour of the castle. That was yesterday, in case you've forgotten. What are you trying to write, anyways? Maybe I can help."

Arthur smiled despite himself at the younger man's offer. He must be more tired than he thought. "It's a letter to my father."

"…Ah."

"Yes. Ah."

Merlin leaned against the wall, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "About your birth?"

"And about the bandits," he growled.

"Were you going to tell him about our… helpers?"

"I don't know," he replied.

Merlin fidgeted. "What are the odds that he'll find out anyways?"

Arthur shrugged. "High, probably. I don't know."

"Oh." The servant chewed his lip, shifted from one foot to the other.

The prince waited, but his usually chatty shadow couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. Heaving yet another sigh, he mumbled, "So I suppose I should, then. It's better he finds out from me than from one of the guards or a rumor."

Merlin flinched, stared down at his feet. "You really feel that way?" he whispered. He peeked up, wide blue eyes peering through dark bangs, before dropping his gaze again. His fists clenched and he looked up, staring at Arthur with a strange intensity. "You really think it's better for someone to tell you himself?"

"Obviously," the bemused prince replied. What in the world was wrong with Merlin?

"Okay," the manservant whispered. Was he _trembling_? He was trembling. Why was he trembling? "Okay."

"Okay?" Arthur repeated.

"Yeah." Merlin swallowed hard. "I have… I have something to tell you."

Arthur waited, but his manservant didn't continue. He stood there pale and shaking, visibly terrified. Frowning, Arthur made a 'go on' gesture.

"It's kind of a long story," the boy confessed, looking very young and vulnerable and not at all like his usual cheerful self.

"Just spit it out, Merlin. I'm sure it's not as big a deal as you think it is."

His servant laughed then, the sound high and hysterical. Worry bubbled in Arthur's belly. This was starting to seem like it was a bit bigger than he'd expected, but it was _Merlin_. He couldn't possibly have hidden anything too important.

Except he had, hadn't he? He'd hidden Mordred in plain sight and lied to Uther's face, and those were just the lies Arthur knew about. It was entirely possible that he'd hidden something else, something that Arthur had never even suspected. The thought disturbed him, made him frown.

Merlin was still laughing, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Arthur pushed himself away from the desk, walked over to his hysterical servant. He placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders, gripped them tight. "Merlin. Calm down."

The younger man nodded, swallowed hard. Wetness glimmered in the corners of his eyes. "Sorry," he choked.

Arthur released him from his hold, backed away. "Right. Now listen up, Merlin, because I'm only going to say this once. You may not have noticed this, but I don't particularly want to write this letter to my father. Cador's spending the afternoon with Morgana, so I can't rely on them to distract me. After lunch, you're going to help me procrastinate by telling me… whatever it is you need to tell me. Do you understand?"

A watery smile. "Of course, sire." For once, the title didn't sound sarcastic. Then he added, "I think that Leon could maybe write part of the letter, at least about the bandits."

"I wish," Arthur muttered. "I outrank him, so it has to be me."

"Maybe write that part down first?" Merlin suggested. He had gotten control of himself with remarkable swiftness, Arthur noted. That had… implications.

Yes, Merlin's big secret (that Arthur hadn't even known he had) was apparently going to be just that: big.

"Arthur?"

Oh, right, he'd said something. "Worth a shot," the prince muttered, returning his attention to the letter. _We had almost arrived at Tintagel when we were set upon by a group of bandits…._

Merlin's advice worked. Arthur had finished the official part of the missive when one of the Tintagel servants informed him that lunch was ready.

Cador and Morgana were there already. Though they were cousins, they didn't look very much alike. Cador's hair was plain brown, his jaw square, his blue eyes set wide. Morgana had taken after her mother, the late Lady Vivienne.

"Sire," Cador murmured, dipping his head in a respectful bow. "You will be pleased to hear that I sent out my garrison to capture the sorcerers you saw. They left at the crack of dawn."

Arthur stared at him. "And what of the bandits?"

"If they see the bandits, they will of course apprehend them, but I thought it better to focus on the sorcerers."

…Arthur was beginning to understand why his father's kingdom had a bandit problem.

"I see," he said slowly. "While I must… commend your dedication to my father's favorite laws, in the future, I think it would be better to focus on the bandits attacking travelers rather than the spellbinders who likely saved my life."

From her place at Cador's left, Morgana beamed at him. Guinevere, standing behind her mistress, smiled like the sun.

Cador looked rather confused. "If you say so, Sire. Would you like me to send out a messenger to the guards?"

"That would probably be for the best, yes."

Still a bit befuddled, Cador gestured to his manservant. The old man bowed before hastening out the door, undoubtedly to find a messenger.

They spent the rest of the (unnecessarily long, overly complicated, impressively fancy) lunch discussing bandits and very carefully not mentioning anything related to magic. Arthur kept his new insight about why bandits were so problematic to himself. He would think about it later, maybe make Merlin do some research on it when they got back to Camelot.

Speaking of Merlin, his manservant hadn't said a thing since they'd arrived. Arthur snuck a glance at the boy. His eyes were distant, his mouth curved in a slight frown, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. He was probably trying to figure out how to tell Arthur… whatever he had to tell him.

Finally the lunch was over. Arthur made some excuse about writing down what they'd discussed and left for his room, Merlin at his heels. Soon they were at the door to his room, and then the door was closing behind them and they were alone.

Not certain what else to do, Arthur turned to face his servant. Merlin was even paler than usual, downright pasty in the light streaming through the window. If Arthur hadn't known it was just because of nerves (and what secret could possibly make cheerful, optimistic Merlin so afraid?), he would have sent him to Tintagel's physician.

The silence stretched on and on. It was a very loud silence, Arthur noted, and awkward as well. He couldn't remember the last time they'd been so uncomfortable around each other.

"…Well?"

Merlin jumped at the sound of master's voice. Color tinged the pale cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled, some of his anxiety replaced by embarrassment. "It's just that…. Other people have found out, of course they have, but it's always been an accident. They find out and then I explain. But, well, Gwen figured it out about a week ago and she made some really good points about how I should tell you instead of just waiting for you to stumble across it, and, well, after that, I couldn't find any excuses to _not_ tell you, so. Here we are." He made a vague gesture that encompassed the two of them.

"So say it," Arthur said. It wasn't an order or a command, but it wasn't exactly a request either. He wasn't quite sure what it was.

The other opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard. "I will," he whispered. "Gods help me, I really will. But first I have to tell you that—that I believe in you, Arthur. Not the Once and Future King. _You._ If I didn't think you have the potential to be a great man and a great king and a great friend, I'd have left Camelot months ago. You're my friend, and a genuinely good person, and I, I don't want you to think that I'm just manipulating you for my own purposes. I mean, I _am_ , but—I care for you as a _person_ , too. I swear it."

The thought of _Merlin_ manipulating anyone was downright bizarre. If not for his lies about Mordred and Excalibur, Arthur wouldn't have believed his manservant capable of manipulation.

The other man was staring at him intently, his expression hesitant, apparently waiting for a response. Arthur obliged. "That's well and good, Merlin, but what are you trying to say?"

Another deep breath, another hard swallow—but this time his shoulders straightened and he drew himself to his full height, fear replaced by fearful determination. Without a word, he held out his hand.

Merlin's eyes flamed gold.

And in his hand, a small, _familiar_ orb of light began to shine.

Arthur stared. He didn't know that his eyes were bulging or that his jaw had sagged or even that he had sat down _hard_ on the floor. All he could see was the misty light, _Emrys's_ light, in Merlin's hand.

"Arthur?" The servant—oh, gods, the warlock—sounded nervous. He crouched down to better meet the prince's gaze. The light dissipated. "Are you all right?"

"You're—" he choked out, gesturing wildly.

"…Yeah."

" _You're_ ," Arthur repeated, unable to force any other words through his throat.

Merlin—Emrys—shrugged, looking a little bit sheepish. "Um. Surprise?"

"But… but you're Merlin," Arthur protested.

"I am. It's just that I'm Emrys, too."

" _How_?"

"Illusion spell," he replied with a little half-shrug. "The druids taught me when I brought Mordred back to them."

That wasn't quite what Arthur had meant, but he didn't think he could explain himself, at least not coherently. His brain didn't seem to be working quite right. It skittered and stuttered and stumbled, his thoughts a disjointed flurry of _shock Merlin warlock Emrys shock disbelief shock light gold ye gods secret shock._ He wanted—he needed—he didn't know what, he couldn't think, and Merlin (Emrys Emrys Emrys) wasn't helping matters by staring at him with those big blue (gold) eyes of his.

"…Leave me."

Merlin jerked back, horrified.

"Not like that!" Arthur exclaimed. "I…. I need time to think, Merlin. Emrys. Whoever you are."

"It's Merlin," the other man muttered, beginning to back away. "I'll be in the next room if you need me. Or have any questions. Or… anything." And then he was gone, slipping into the room's adjoining servant quarters and closing the door behind him.

Arthur stared numbly at the door. Merlin. It was Merlin. It was Merlin all along, Merlin who had sent the light and fought Sophia and Aulfric and killed the wraith and made Excalibur and cured the Questing Beast's bite and held his own against Cornelius bloody Sigan. It was Emrys who had darned his socks and mucked his stables and performed a million other demeaning tasks on a daily basis. His idiot manservant was his powerful warlock. He didn't understand.

Okay. Okay. Merlin was Emrys and Emrys was Merlin. Maybe if he just focused on the fact instead of the implications, the world would start to make sense again. Except that wasn't working, because _Merlin is Emrys_ was such a strange alien thought that he couldn't comprehend it. Part of him wondered if this was a dream, but he knew it wasn't, because he just wasn't that creative.

Merlin. Emrys. Gods. _Gods_.

It didn't make sense. Merlin was, well, a bit of an idiot. He was reckless and mouthy and—oh. Emrys was reckless and mouthy, too, and he could be considered a bit of an idiot for using magic in Camelot. And they were both pro-magic and stubborn and had faith in Arthur. Both had expressed their desire for the war between magic and mundane to end. And he'd never seen them together.

Things were starting to make a bit more sense now. He could see the similarities, so it didn't seem _quite_ as far-fetched as it had a few moments before. It was still ridiculous and mind-boggling, of course, but a bit less so.

Merlin was Emrys. Merlin had magic. Powerful magic, too. And he apparently spent his free time stealing from the vaults and freeing imprisoned dragons and breaking accused spellbinders out of the dungeons and _dear gods what the hell else had he been up to_. Did he have any hobbies that _weren't_ massively illegal?

He'd stood up and started pacing at some point. He paused briefly to groan. How the hell had he never noticed all of this highly illegal activity taking place right under his nose?

It was the ears, Arthur decided. Nobody expected someone with ears like that to be a criminal mastermind, or any kind of mastermind at all, for that matter. No wonder he changed those stupid ears when he turned into Emrys.

When Merlin turned into Emrys, because apparently he was Emrys and thought it was a good idea to be a powerful warlock and work as _Uther's son's_ manservant. Arthur couldn't decide if that was courage or insanity. Probably both.

Well, at least now he knew why Merlin was so frightened of the king. It was a minor miracle that he'd been able to lie to the man's face or tend him when—

Arthur froze in mid-step.

Edwin Muirden.

The prince spun on his heel, sprinted into Merlin's adjoining room. The warlock jumped, knocking an old, large, and probably illegal book off his lap. "Arthur?"

"Edwin Muirden," he replied.

"…What about him?"

"Why didn't you let him kill my father?"

Merlin dropped his gaze, focusing on the (definitely illegal) book. "Because I knew this day would come."

Arthur gestured for him to go on.

"There was an Elanthia beetle in his brain," Merlin sighed. "I thought—I'm not proud of this, Arthur, but I thought about letting Uther die. Then I realized that one day, I'd have to explain why I helped murder your father." He shrugged. "So I magicked the beetle out and tried to help him with what little herb-lore I knew. I figured that if he died anyways, at least you couldn't blame me for not trying."

Arthur thought of what Merlin had said, his claim that he wasn't just using him to bring back magic. Would he still have spared Uther if that wasn't the case? The prince didn't know. All he knew was that if spellbinders were as innately evil as his father claimed—if magic was the corrupting force he'd been taught—then Merlin would have just stood back.

Merlin wasn't evil. Dishonest and criminal, yes, but….

"Would the others have done that?"

"What others?" Merlin asked, befuddled.

"The others," Arthur replied. "People like you. Would they have…?"

Merlin sighed. "Some would, I think," he admitted. "The druids, probably. Most wouldn't, though. Your father isn't exactly popular among my people."

"….I suppose he wouldn't be."

"If it makes you feel better, I _have_ requested that people quit trying to assassinate him. The druids and I have been trying to convince everyone that peace can't be won through murder, fear, and mind control."

"Mind control?" Arthur yelped.

Merlin winced. "There's one person, Nimueh's successor, who thinks we should enchant the crown princes of every kingdom we can. I've explained to her why that isn't going to happen."

"And she listened?"

"I think so."

Arthur groaned, rubbed at his temples. "But you don't know."

"Sorry."

"…I need to meet with her."

"What?" Merlin cried.

"I said that I need to meet with her."

"Are you crazy?"

"If I am, it's thanks to you."

Merlin's shoulders slumped. "…I probably deserved that," he admitted softly.

Arthur sank into the room's sole chair, suddenly exhausted. "Probably."

"Are you sure you're all right, Arthur?" Merlin—Emrys—asked quietly, fiddling with his (undoubtedly illegal) book.

"I'll be fine," the prince replied. "Just…gods. When you said you had something to tell me, I was expecting something normal. I really should have known better."

"Yeah, you should have," Merlin agreed. There was a tentative note to his teasing, the barest hint of a question, like he wasn't certain he could do this anymore. Then, softly, "I thought you'd be angrier."

"Maybe once the shock wears off," Arthur retorted.

"Ah." Merlin winced.

"Unless you have any other earthshattering secrets you'd like to share with me?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" Arthur twisted around to gawk at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Merlin shrugged, the motion as awkward as ever. "I mean that there's things I couldn't tell you about until you knew who I am. There's other things that I still can't tell you because they aren't my secrets to tell. But there's nothing I can tell you that's quite as big as me being Emrys. They're more like… auxiliary secrets."

Arthur groaned and let his head slump against the wall.

"I'll tell you if you ask," Merlin promised. "Or if it comes up in conversation, I guess. As long as it's my secret to tell, I'll tell it."

"I'll hold you to that, Merlin."

"Okay." The warlock shoved his book under his pillow (more proof that it was illegal) and leaned forward on his bed, hands clasped in his lap. "What do you want to know?"

And Arthur laughed, because it was just like Merlin _and_ Emrys to misinterpret what he'd said like that. It was just like the _both_ of them to stare at him with steadily increasing concern, obviously wondering what had gone wrong and how he could fix it. "Not _now_ , you dolt," he explained once his breath returned.

Merlin beamed at him.

They were silent for a time, Arthur with his eyes half-closed and his hand to his brow, Merlin glancing intermittently between his retrieved book and his boss. Merlin was Emrys. The thought was only a little less insane than it had been earlier, and yet….

Perhaps, in time, Arthur could get used to it.

* * *

I'm BACK! And on time, too, because it's still July in my time zone.

So who was expecting the Reveal right after a hiatus? I know I sure wouldn't, except I did, because I wrote this (and not as much of my thesis as I wanted to, but I like writing this a lot better).

Alternate chapter title: " _In which Arthur Sees the Light_ "

Next chapter: August 18. Arthur tries to handle Merlin's big secret (and probably a couple auxiliary secrets, too) as Uther deals with the assault on his dungeons.

Also, if you're a fan of _Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire_ , I've been working on a crack fic based on the premise of Useful!Bloodraven forming an alliance with Ned and Cat right after Robert's Rebellion to prepare for the Long Night, and Winterfell basically becomes a magical madhouse of hilarious absurdity. Dunno when it'll be published, because I haven't finished it or my stupid thesis and I've still got this, but writing it makes me giggle maniacally, so hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Until then (or August 18, whichever comes first), friends!

-Antares


	17. Maddox

Chapter XVII: Maddox

"So."

At the sound of Arthur's voice, Merlin started, looked up from his futile attempts to decode Sigan's secrets. "So what?"

"Auxiliary secrets." Arthur glared at a place somewhere beyond Merlin's shoulder, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "What does that even mean, auxiliary secrets? Are you part fairy or something?"

"Of course n—" And then Merlin thought of his grandparents kidnapping a prince, of how easily he himself had found the Lake of Avalon, of his and Mother's shared ability to see through illusions. "…Actually, that would explain quite a lot."

" _What_?"

"Well, I don't know if I've ever told you this, but Mother's adopted and we've always known that there was something weird about her birth parents, so maybe they actually were Sidhe all along. It's certainly possible."

Arthur's head hit the desk with a dull thud. The wood hid his expression but couldn't entirely muffle his groan.

"Are you all right?"

The prince turned. "I changed my mind," he announced. "I don't want to know any more auxiliary secrets until I'm drunk."

"Okay, I suppose," Merlin muttered, going back to his book.

It was hard to read, and not just because a good quarter of the text was written in some incomprehensible cipher that Sigan had probably invented personally. Merlin was distracted, jittery, even though he had somehow managed to look and act mostly calm ever since telling Arthur what he was.

Arthur knew. He _knew._

It had been the hardest, most frightening thing he'd done in his life. Forget awaiting Kanen's men in Ealdor or choosing his purpose over his father or public speaking on the Isle of the Blessed. The only thing that came close to matching his confession in difficulty and the sheer willpower he'd needed to go through with it was walking into Camelot for the first time.

At least Arthur hadn't reacted badly. He'd gawked like a fish and made a few very concerning spluttery-whimpery noises and generally behaved as though he were about to pass out, but he hadn't reacted badly. Sure, there had been that one heart-stopping moment when he ordered Merlin to leave him, but that had turned out to mean that he wanted some time on his own to process things. Merlin could understand that. Hell, he'd probably have asked the same.

So he'd come to his adjoining room and dug out Sigan's grimoire in a failed attempt to make himself useful while Arthur adjusted—or, well, started to adjust. Fully adjusting would take awhile—to the truth.

He'd actually done it. He'd told Arthur who and what he was. The thought was incredible, and scary, and… warm, somehow, warm in the center of his chest. He'd confessed, and Arthur was really reacting very well.

So there was no reason that he shouldn't be able to focus on decoding Sigan's grimoire, because Sigan was dangerous and possibly insane and definitely going to kill people unless Merlin figured out a way to make him less immortal. Or unless Arthur stabbed him with Excalibur. Or unless Beothaich had the same properties and Merlin didn't get possessed before killing him.

That was his real worry, possession. He knew that he was powerful; he'd have to be an idiot not to realize that. Sigan was strong enough by himself. If he possessed Merlin—Emrys—and claimed all that magical ability on top of his own, then….

Merlin gave a little shiver and stared more intently at the coded page.

He hadn't had much time to study it, but he'd already determined it wasn't a code like anything he'd ever seen before. Admittedly, he didn't know much about codebreaking, but he'd thought that they replaced one letter with another in a predictable fashion, like each letter was replaced by the one after it or the order of the alphabet was reversed. He'd tried those codes on a couple words only to receive gibberish.

He'd have to break the codes if he wanted to find out what in the world Sigan had done to make himself immortal.

A thought occurred to him, one that made him glance up from the book towards Arthur. The prince was staring moodily at a wall, clearly lost in thought.

Well, no time like the present. "Do you know anything about codebreaking?"

"What?"

"Codebreaking," Merlin repeated, tapping the book. "I've already read the parts of Sigan's grimoire that aren't in code, and they don't have the information I need to find out how to undo his immortality. So. Do you know anything about codebreaking?"

"…I knew that book was illegal."

"Arthur."

"No, I don't know anything about codebreaking. Geoffrey never taught me. How the hell did you get your hands on Cornelius Sigan's grimoire and why didn't you tell me you had it?"

"It was in his tomb," Merlin explained, "and you literally just said that you didn't want to know my auxiliary secrets."

Arthur laughed at that, a faint note of hysteria in the sound. "I should have known you were you. Only you could be this frustrating _twice_."

For once, Merlin opted not to comment. "So Geoffrey knows about codes?"

"And tomb robbing," Arthur added, either not hearing or completely ignoring his warlock. "Tomb robbing, Merlin. Tomb robbing, and orchestrating jailbreaks, and practicing magic, and, and, I don't even know what else. Do you have any hobbies that _aren't_ massively illegal?"

Merlin had to think a moment. "…I like to read," he finally remembered.

"Illegal books!" Arthur screeched, gesturing wildly at the grimoire.

"That's irrelevant," Merlin protested. "Reading itself isn't illegal, you know, so technically—"

Arthur fell off the chair, he was laughing so hard. Merlin glared at him for a moment before the ridiculousness of the situation, the leftover tension from his confession, everything caught up with him. The next thing he knew, he was laughing too.

He felt better when they were done. Lighter, somehow, like the air after it rained.

"So Geoffrey would maybe know codes?" Merlin asked once they were done.

Arthur stared at him in befuddlement. Merlin wondered if he'd forgotten about the codes after his fixation on the warlock's illegal activities. "The code," he reminded him, brandishing the book. "Parts of this are written in code, and you just said that Geoffrey might know about codebreaking?"

"Him or Gaius," Arthur muttered, glowering at the grimoire as though it was responsible for all his problems. "I don't know. It never really came up in conversation."

"I hope Gaius does," Merlin said. "I left him a copy."

"Gaius—no, of course Gaius knows." Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Who else knows?"

First he didn't want to hear anything about auxiliary secrets, now he wanted details. Merlin wished the prince would just make up his mind. "My parents, of course. Gaius. Will, my friend from Ealdor. You remember Will?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then there's Lancelot—"

" _Lancelot_?"

"Yes. He saw me fighting a griffin in the woods, then finished it off for me while I passed out from a minor case of blood loss. Let's see. After him was Mordred, but then his clan taught me to use illusion spells so I've mostly been in disguise around other spellbinders since then."

"You're disguised among your own kind?" Arthur repeated, brows furrowed in confusion.

Merlin nodded. "It's unlikely that the druids would give away one of our kin on purpose, but there's always a chance that they'll say something by accident or that someone will be spying. It just didn't seem like a good idea running around using this face, you know?"

"I suppose."

"Right. So after Mordred was—oh, wait, I almost forgot Anhora. And I shoud probably mention Blaise, too, even though he's part of Mordred's clan and met me before I started wearing illusions in public. Anhora knew who I was right away."

"Who're those people?"

"Blaise is my tutor in magic. I don't think you've ever met him. Anhora is the old fellow who showed up after we encountered that unicorn, remember?" Arthur nodded. "He got me a unicorn for when you'd been bitten by the Questing Beast, which is when Morgana… sort of walked in on me borrowing you from your sickbed."

"Morgana knows?"

"Mm-hm. And then Gwen put the pieces together about a week ago and told me right away that I should tell you the truth, too, and then I spent the past week worrying about that and wondering if she was right, and then you said that it's better to find out these things by being told, so… here we are."

Arthur closed his eyes, looking very old and tired. "Gods."

"Exactly."

"Shut up, Merlin."

And just like that, the warlock knew things would be okay. Arthur would be upset and exasperated with him for a long while yet—Gwen and even Morgana still occasionally gave him very odd looks—but his friend still treated him the same way, still thought of him the same way.

They would be fine.

He smiled.

* * *

Maddox could hardly believe that Donald's scheme had worked.

The guardsman hadn't volunteered for his task. He'd been new to the city, new to the guard, and not particularly good at the sword. But according to Donald, that (well, the first two, anyways) made him perfect for this mission. Even if the sorcerers figured out that there were spies among the prisoners, it would be bloody difficult to identify someone who had yet to be promoted from the night shift.

When one of his fellow moles had broken cover to kill the one sorcerer (hopefully the one behind all this rebellion), Maddox had nearly passed out. What if they had some kind of spell to identify spies and used it then and killed them all? But they didn't, because they'd ended the other man's life and only started looking for other moles after leaving the citadel.

He'd thought he would be caught then, that something in his face would betray him. Apparently he was a better actor than he'd ever dared to imagine, for he had yet to fall under suspicion. It looked like all those years of covering for his siblings were paying off.

Maddox's tiny group, one of the many that had formed after the sorcerers split up the prisoners, had remained in Essetir for a day and a half, traveling along the border of Camelot and steadfastly avoiding other travelers. They didn't talk much. Maddox would have been happier about that—he didn't want to consort with traitors, and there was the ever-present worry that he would give himself away somehow—but the silence was a mixed blessing that left him alone with his thoughts.

What had happened to the others? He couldn't remember the name of the poor man who'd been immediately murdered after putting down the one sorcerer—he'd always been terrible with names—but he knew that there were others who shared their mission. They'd been split up when the sorcerers had divided up the escapees, so he had no idea what had become of them.

For all he knew, the sorcerers had murdered them all. For all he knew, he was the only one who could find their hidey-hole and save the kingdom.

Gods, he wished he hadn't been picked for this mission.

Some of the prisoners split from the others. These three men and two women had kin in foreign kingdoms or in villages far from Camelot's capital, places where they could hide from the king's justice like the cowards they were. Maddox tried his hardest to remember their names and destinations, forcing the unfamiliar appellations to stick. If— _when_ he made it back, because he was going to survive this and he was going to make it back alive and then he was going to demand a bloody promotion—when he made it back, King Uther would want to know where his enemies had gone to ground. He was a very thorough man when it came to rooting out traitors, one of the reasons that Camelot had prospered these past twenty years.

The rest of them snuck back into the wilds of Camelot, guided by the druid who had been waiting for them outside the citadel. They bypassed the White Mountains and made their way to a huge misty lake. A boatman was waiting for them, a grizzled old fellow with a craggy brown face and heavy-lidded eyes. Maddox wondered uneasily how the man had known they were coming. If he'd somehow forseen their arrival, could he also figure out that Maddox—not to mention the other guardsmen, assuming that they'd survived—was a loyal subject of the King of Camelot instead of a sorcerer?

Thankfully, the old man's powers seemed to be limited to precognition and finding his way through the thick mists that blanketed the lake. Soon Maddox and the prisoners found themselves in a bustling island city that was _full of sorcerers and sympathizers and a giant bloody dragon,_ gods save them all.

It was called the Isle of the Blessed, Maddox was told. The Butcher King had destroyed it, but then Lord Emrys had called the children of magic back to its hallowed shores. Since then, Lord Balinor and Lady Hunith had been in charge of restoring it to its former glory. They would be safe here, their druid guide assured them.

It was the rebellion's base of operations, the heart of their schemes. It was an entire city full of sorcerers hidden inside the kingdom of Camelot, within striking distance of the capital itself.

Maddox _had_ to get out of here. He had to warn the king.

* * *

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No."

"Wrong answer, Merlin. You're out of your mind."

"No, Morgana, I'm not. Gwen was right, and Arthur is actually taking this a lot better than I expected."

"For now. What happens when the shock wears off?"

"…He fully assimilates this information and accepts me completely?"

Morgana's glare could have boiled water.

Merlin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "He's angry, we yell at each other awhile, and then he remembers that he needs me to fight Cornelius Sigan."

That sounded likely, but Morgana wasn't about to admit that to him. He'd probably just take it as permission to continue doing stupid things. Was this how Gaius felt? If so, she pitied the poor old man.

"But like I said, he really is reacting rather well to this. He wants to talk tomorrow over breakfast."

Dread curdled in Morgana's stomach. "With whom?" she asked, her traitorous mind leaping to the worst possible conclusion that _was not real._ Merlin might have spilled the beans about his own nature, but he'd never tell Arthur about her. He'd promised. She knew this, and the fear chilling her veins was completely irrational, like the way some people panicked when they were in small spaces. She knew that he wouldn't, that he hadn't, so why couldn't she stop the fear?

"He asked if anybody else knew about my magic," Merlin explained, a bit more gently than before. "I didn't tell him about you, but I had to mention that you and Gwen knew what I was."

Did he know? Morgana hoped not, but her face flushed anyways.

"So he wants to talk with the three of us at breakfast tomorrow." Merlin paused, chewed at his lip for a moment before forcing himself to continue. "He… also said that he wants me to broker a meeting with Morgause."

Morgana's heart dropped into her stomach. " _What_?"

"I know," Merlin moaned, flopping into a chair.

"You told him that she wants to control his mind, right?" the lady demanded, her anger and fear about his confession temporarily set aside.

"Yes! I told him all about the danger and that he's an idiot for trying this, but he insists." Merlin gestured wildly. "He just doesn't understand that he's out of his league." The warlock sighed heavily, then gave a little grimace. "But… as he pointed out, if he's supposed to be this great king, he has to at least try to negotiate with her. I'm still trying to talk him down, obviously, but, just in case they ever do end up meeting…. Um. Remember how she claimed she was your half-sister?"

"Vividly." Her fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into her palms.

"If you have any concrete evidence that she isn't, then, you know, you might want to get it ready," he mumbled, looking at a place somewhere above her left shoulder.

A muscle jumped in her jaw. "I don't." Her voice was flat.

Merlin got the message. "Okay. I… think I might try to introduce him to some druids or something first. Get his feet wet, you know? Or Kilgharrah."

Eager to follow up on the subject change, Morgana forced herself to come up with a joke. "Have you ever actually successfully introduced anyone to that dragon of yours?"

"No," Merlin sighed, "everybody keeps refusing, but I'm confident I can wear someone down eventually."

They fell silent then, the attempted joke failing to lighten their spirits.

"…I think she is."

"What?"

"Morgause," Morgana ground out, fists clenching. "I asked one of the older servants if my mother had ever had another child, a _blonde_ daughter a few years older than me, and she very abruptly changed the subject. I asked if her name was Morgause, and she froze."

"But... that doesn't mean it's _this_ Morgause."

"That's what Gwen said."

"Gwen's right."

"But if you put that together with the other evidence, it… doesn't look good."

"I suppose it doesn't," Merlin acquiesced. He hesitated for a brief moment, then stood and walked over to her, his arms open, his expression shy. Morgana smiled slightly and leaned into the hug on offer. Their arms wrapped around each other.

The door opened as Gwen walked in, smiling from an evening well-spent with her brother. "Morgana, is there any—oh." She blinked, pulled up short. Merlin and Morgana pulled away from each other, their cheeks reddening. "Um. Is there anything I can get you before bed?"

"No. No, thank you."

Gwen glanced at Merlin, whose face darkened from red to crimson as he caught onto what she was wondering. Morgana braced herself for the warlock's inevitable context-less rambling. Sure enough, he did not disappoint.

"I told Arthur about my magic. Do you want to have breakfast with us tomorrow?"

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _Wherein Arthur is not Drunk Enough to Deal with Merlin's Auxiliary Secrets_ "

Since Sigan is writing in code, I figured I'd pull a _Gravity Falls_ and give you a sample. The following is in the same cipher that Cornelius Sigan uses. "Xisiyskg cutssk yae rzh bpvqresw wnfmw hag subesxptt gpbmwrk, ffh mje elzk bu sa jfze qf mrlqatozmdal vhmx T'a zqizk ec nue ux lbryakw." Have fun trying to break it!

The ASoIaF fic I mentioned is up. People seem to like it, so if you're a fan of that series, feel free to read.

Next chapter: September 8. The fearsome four have breakfast together and Cornelius Sigan makes his next move.

-Antares


	18. New Shocks

Chapter XVIII: New Shocks

They were going to hold the conversation as equals, all four of them, but nobody outside their quartet knew that. To the rest of the world, it just looked like Arthur and Morgana were planning to break their fast together, their loyal servants at their side. As a result, Merlin and Gwen met earlier than the others, preparing a small, mostly unused room for a very private meal. If those preparations happened to include temporary silencing wards, well, that was nobody's business but their own.

The kitchens were running late that morning—something to do with a summer cold working its way through the castle—so Merlin and Gwen had been told to ready the room and wait for the kitchen staff to bring up breakfast as soon as it was ready. "What do you think of Tintagel?" he asked her.

"It's lovely," the maid replied.

Merlin nodded. "No surprise there."

"Oh?" asked Gwen, an eyebrow arching up. "Why not? Because Morgana was born here?"

Not for the first time, Merlin cursed his pale coloration for how easily his blushes showed. "More like because she spent half the journey talking about how nice it is here."

"Yes," Gwen agreed, "you two have spent a great deal of time together recently."

Oh no. He should have expected this from the moment she walked in on them embracing. "That wasn't what it looked like."

"Actually, I think you two could be a good match."

Merlin pulled up short, blinked at her like an owl. "Huh?"

"You're already dear friends, and… sometimes I think I can see something else between you. And—" Her voice turned wistful. "You're highborn enough that nobody could really object to the match, being son of the Lord of the Isle and magical royalty to boot." _Not like me,_ she didn't say.

"Did I tell you about the People's Queen? Because if I didn't, I need to tell you as soon as I'm done reminding you that I am most certainly not magical royalty and—" The door slid open. Merlin paused to make sure it was just Morgana, then continued. "Besides, the Isle is probably going to Ganieda, anyways, as I'll probably be stuck at court babysitting Arthur for the rest of my life."

"Ganieda?" Morgana repeated. She didn't look so good, Merlin noted. Had her nightmares kept her up again, or had she been thinking too hard to fall asleep? Gods knew that he'd had plenty of trouble succumbing to slumber.

"Mother is pretty certain the baby is a girl, and she's very good at predicting that kind of thing." Because she may or may not be the mortal daughter of exiled Sidhe. He really needed to write to her about that. "She and Father decided on Ganieda after one of his ancestors whose life story has a few significant parallels with Mother's."

"Ganieda Caledonensis. I like it." Then the smile slipped off her face. "Does Arthur know about all that?"

"No," Merlin confessed. "He said he didn't want to hear about my auxiliary secrets until he was drunk, so I didn't explain to him about my father being a dragonlord or about starting the whole resistance thing."

"Or about being magical royalty?" Morgana asked dryly.

"Of course I didn't mention that, because I'm _not_."

Neither of the women looked particularly convinced. Morgana went so far as to roll her eyes.

Someone knocked on the door. Merlin, conscious of the silencing wards, gestured for Morgana to open it. The castle servants entered with a mouthwatering meal of steaming pancakes, thick bacon, and fresh summer fruit. Their lady thanked them politely before returning her attention to her manservant. "Merlin, where's Arthur?"

"He had to send a letter to his father, but he should be here—oh, hi, Arthur."

One of the castle servants actually winced at his impropriety. Poor thing would never make it in Camelot.

"Hello, Merlin," said Arthur, who looked more like a man walking to his execution than a man preparing to enjoy breakfast with his friends. "Morgana, Guinevere."

The one servant was beginning to look faintly scandalized. Merlin wasn't sure why. Was it because Arthur had long ago accepted the futility of scolding him for misdemeanors like this and hadn't bothered to chide him? Thankfully, she and her coworker had done their duty already, so they bowed and backed out of the room. She gave Merlin a very significant glare as she did so, probably intending to show him how it was supposed to be done. Merlin just smiled and gave her a little wave. Her glare hardened as the door closed between them.

Now that it was time to begin, Merlin found that he didn't know what to say. That was all right, though. Surely someone else would start the conversation? But everybody remained silent as they filed into their seats, piled breakfast onto their plates.

Should he say something? He should probably say something. After all, it was his fault they were here. Sort of. Arthur had given the order, but it had been in response to Merlin's secrets. So, logically, he ought to be the one to say something.

"I am not magical royalty."

Arthur froze with a piece of bacon halfway to his lips.

"Morgana and Gwen will try to say that I am, but they're wrong. I'm not quite certain where they got the idea, but I am in no way, shape, or form magical royalty."

Arthur stared at the warlock in budding horror, which hopefully meant that he would take Merlin's side in this ridiculousness. Perhaps he was even offended on his friend's behalf.

"He's in denial about being magical royalty," Morgana explained, spearing a bite of pancake with her fork.

"No I'm not."

"So you admit it, then?"

"There's nothing to be in denial about because I am not, never have been, and never will—"

"Sophia called you Lord Emrys." Arthur's gaze was blank. "I thought she meant that the real you was one of Father's lordlings. And the unicorn bowed."

"Unicorn?" Gwen asked.

"That means nothing," Merlin protested.

"He's the figurehead and founder of an international magical conspiracy," Morgana chirped, her lips twitching.

Arthur looked from his foster sister to his friend as though hoping for a denial. "What magical resistance movement?"

"You know how people have been doing good magical deeds in public and then running away? I helped come up with the idea, though of course it was the druids who refined it and spread word."

"Until the summit. That was his idea, too."

"Summit?" the prince squeaked. His breakfast cooled before him, entirely forgotten.

"Yes, summit," Merlin tried to explain. "There was this big meeting—"

"And you led it?"

"I…I suppose that _technically_ —"

"You _did_ lead it."

"…technically."

Arthur's eyes were wild as they darted around the table. "Would anyone else like to confess their insane secrets? Guinevere, are you also some kind of half fairy-thing?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she answered honestly.

"Good. Bloody excellent. What about you, Morgana? Any magical powers that I should know about?"

The lady went rigid, her face white.

"Of course you do," Arthur groaned. "Of bloody… this is all your fault, Merlin."

"Excuse me?" the warlock squawked.

"We're going to the training fields," Arthur declared, standing.

"We are?"

"I need to hit something."

"But you said yesterday that I could have the day off to work on Sigan's grimoire."

Arthur swore.

"I'm… sure that the castle guards would be willing to spar with you," Gwen assured him timidly. She kept glancing between her prince and her lady as though wondering which of them to comfort first. "But maybe you should finish your breakfast first?"

Arthur froze for a moment, then gave a long, low groan. The prince buried his head in his hands, slid back down into his seat. "Right," he mumbled, "right." Then, looking up, he said, "Anything else you'd like to add, Merlin?"

"… Are you saying that you want to hear my auxiliary secrets?"

"You have more of them?" Arthur whined.

"Not many," Merlin assured his friend. "You already knew about quite a few of my activities as Emrys, and now you know that I'm Emrys and part of the magical resistance. Oh, and the prophecies and the thing about my grandparents." (Morgana and Gwen, who had not yet heard his new theory about exiled Sidhe, exchanged looks of alarm.) "So there's only a couple things left."

"Get it over with," Arthur ordered through gritted teeth.

"My father is actually the last Dragonlord, Balinor Caledonensis, he and Mother were made rulers of the Isle of the Blessed after the summit, and I left a few volunteers behind in Camelot in case Sigan tries anything." Merlin paused, considered. "I think that you already know the rest of the major events. Everything else is just filling in the details. I mean, there's always a possibility that I've forgotten something, but I swear I honestly can't think of any other big secret."

Arthur was silent.

"I can," said Morgana. Her face was pale, and she spoke to her half-empty plate rather than any one person. "He's been teaching me."

That got a reaction out of the overloaded prince. "Are you out of your _mind_?" he snarled, whirling on his manservant.

"Someone has to," Merlin protested.

"No, my _sister_ does not need to learn magic in the middle of Camelot!"

(Any other time, Merlin—and the ladies too, probably—would have teased Arthur about his slip-up while secretly being pleased by it. This wasn't the time.)

"Actually—"

"No, Merlin, shut up. You might not have a choice but—" Arthur blinked, pulled up short. He was quiet for a long moment. "Oh."

"My dreams are… you know… too," Morgana continued, her voice stilted and forced. "I can see the future in them, sometimes, though I'm not very good."

"And you can't help it," Arthur sighed. "Neither of you can help it."

Merlin was beginning to get worried about Arthur's many sudden mood swings. Cycling through so many emotions so quickly wasn't like him. Still, the warlock supposed, it was infinitely better than getting stuck on one inconvenient emotion—rage or grief or betrayal. Arthur was _listening_ , and that was the most important thing.

Then again, had he ever had to suddenly adjust to so much adverse information in such a short amount of time? First the news about his birth—no, it had started before that. Merlin had told him about the prophecies right when they left for Tintagel. It must have been a nasty shock for a man who'd grown up on stories of magic's evils (even a man who had learned to question those stories) to suddenly learn that he was apparently destined to return it to the land. Then he'd learned the truth about his birth from Elyan's rumors, a truth that Merlin probably should have told him about earlier rather than letting him hear it from gossip and speculation. Then Merlin had come clean about being a warlock, about being Emrys, and about his other secrets as well. Finally came the revelation that Morgana also had magic, that she was a witch and a Seer. Oh, and that she and Gwen had also known about Merlin. Maybe Arthur was suffering some sort of shock fatigue that made his emotions unstable. It made as much sense as anything else.

"I think that's it, though," Morgana finally mumbled, after a long and awkward silence. "I can't think of any other major revelations that Arthur needs to know to get him up to speed. What about you, Merlin, Gwen?" They shook their heads.

"Thank the gods," Arthur muttered.

Conversation faltered after that, everyone trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Soon Merlin and Gwen were taking dishes back to the kitchen.

"That went well, I think," the warlock finally said.

"Tell that to Morgana," Gwen replied worriedly. "She didn't want that."

"Neither did I," Merlin admitted. "But… he was more worried about her than angry. That's a good sign, right? I don't even think he's that worried about _me_."

Gwen smiled. "Did you hear him call her his sister?"

Merlin's eyes went wide. He had. It had just slipped his mind after everything else. "He did, didn't he?" A smile. "I hope Morgana heard that."

His friend's smile widened. "I think she did."

* * *

Gaius had been busier than usual with Merlin gone, so it took awhile for the news to reach his ears. When he heard, though, he had too many patients to attend to and was left to stew on his thoughts for hours before he could slip away.

By that point, of course, the king was busy. With preparations, the rumors said. Gaius hoped not, for if Uther was _making preparations,_ then the initial rumor—the whisper that had brought him out of his chambers—was true, and that would spell disaster for Camelot.

He went to Geoffrey instead, seeking out his old friend in the library. When he entered the book-filled room, the archivist looked at him with an expression as worried as Gaius felt. The physician's heart plummeted into his stomach.

"You've heard the rumors, I take it?" Geoffrey asked.

"I have. Are they…?"

"Aye."

Gaius slid into a chair. "But why now? The timing makes no sense!"

"I know," said Geoffrey, old and tired. Gaius suddenly remembered his friend as a young man, his face untouched by wrinkles. Where had the years gone? "With everything that has happened lately, the last thing we need is another war."

It was true. Cornelius Sigan was the only true threat to Camelot, but from most peoples' perspective, the citadel was already besieged on all sides. The dragon's escape was common knowledge, as was the existence of Emrys and the massive break-in that had freed over a hundred prisoners. The Raven's Key had been used for the first time in centuries, and while its magic had not killed any of the guards (or citizens, for that matter), the attack _had_ demonstrated the guards' helplessness against stone come to life.

Yet despite the threats on his doorstep, Uther had for some reason chosen _now_ of all times to declare war on King Odin.

Perhaps Gaius shouldn't be surprised. After all, Odin had recently sent an assassin after Arthur. In the chaos of Sigan's attacks and the panic caused by Merlin's actions as Emrys, he'd barely even noticed the attempt. Merlin and Gwen had foiled it easily enough, Uther had raged, and Arthur had reminded his father why declaring war for that slight was a terrible idea. They had no proof it was Odin, he had pointed out, and besides, they had other things to worry about. Things like Cornelius Sigan, who had vowed to destroy Camelot, and even the great meeting of the Five Kingdoms scheduled for the end of summer.

Uther had seen sense then. He hadn't liked it, but he'd seen sense. Why, then, had he changed his mind? And why now, over a fortnight after the assassination attempt? Was it because Arthur, who had protested the war so vehemently, was finally gone?

"I must make him see sense," the physician muttered, standing once again.

"I don't think you'll be able to," said Geoffrey quietly.

Something in the historian's voice gave Gaius pause. "Why do you say that?"

Geoffrey hesitated. His eyes darted around the library, empty save for them. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke. "I am not certain that _Uther_ was the one to declare war."

Gaius's heart stuttered. "You think…?"

"I haven't seen any proof," Geoffrey admitted, "but that might not mean anything. He had me for days without arousing suspicion."

"And now you think he is possessing Uther."

"He wants to destroy Camelot," Geoffrey replied. A shudder wracked his frame. "I felt his hatred, Gaius, and I don't think it would be satisfied with just the destruction of the citadel proper. Whatever Bruta Pendragon did to him—not just his death, whatever came before that—it left him twisted and bitter and furious. I don't doubt he would start a pointless war to sate his rage."

"Do you know what Bruta did?" Gaius asked softly. He'd been wondering that for a long time.

Geoffrey sighed. "Something about a dragonlord's wife. That's all I could discover. He had much better access to my memories than I had to his. Does it matter, though? Whoever she is, she's long dead, just like Bruta and Innogen and the rest of them."

Gaius acknowledged the point with a nod. He supposed it didn't matter, not when Sigan was so set on destroying them all. But while they were on the topic of the old mage, he should ask. "Have you any information about his grimoire? If it were found, it might have a way to stop him." If they could break the code, that was. He'd had no luck with it.

The historian grimaced. "Camelot."

"…It's in Camelot?"

"Presumably, but… I think it's something more. He just always thought of that word in relation to the grimoire, and I don't know why." He looked so frustrated then, so tired. "Everything else, I already said in my debriefing. I just don't know."

Not for the first time, Gaius wished he'd been there for his friend's interrogation.

Silence lingered for a long moment. Finally Geoffrey squared his shoulders. "We have to stop him."

"Yes." A plan was beginning to form. "We do."

* * *

I... do not like this chapter. I just don't.

Congratulations to everybody who figured out that the code was vigenere, and double congratulations to the people who actually managed to crack it. You are much smarter than I am.

I recently got super-obsessed with _Over the Garden Wall_ and wrote a one-shot, because clearly that's what I should be focusing on right now. It's called "til your leaves touch the sky" and I'm actually kind of proud of it. I certainly like it better than this chapter.

Next update: September 29. Gaius has a plan. Arthur continues to adjust.

EDIT: I forgot the alternate chapter title, so here it is. Alternate chapter title: " _In Which Merlin Remains Firmly in Denial About the Fact He is, Indeed, Magical Royalty"_

-Antares


	19. Strength and Schemes

Chapter XIX: Strength and Schemes

In hindsight, Arthur going to the local tavern, getting completely wasted, and latching onto "my new besht friend ever, becaush _he'sh_ honesht with me, _Merlin_ " was probably inevitable. Still, at least he hadn't spilled the beans to anybody, and Gwaine seemed nice enough once he recovered from the surprise that his new drinking buddy was actually the Crown Prince of Camelot. Arthur had, after all, had quite a few shocks recently. He probably deserved his little breakdown, though Merlin wished he'd chosen a less public venue. What if someone started to wonder just why Arthur suddenly felt the need to wander off and get uncharacteristically drunk?

Admittedly, he probably shouldn't be worried. It was a bit of a stretch from "Arthur got drunk, I wonder why?" to "Arthur recently discovered that his manservant is secretly a powerful warlock leading the magical resistance," but someone might be smart enough to figure it out. Hell, he still wasn't sure what Arthur had said to Gwaine. The fact that the other man hadn't started babbling about magic when Merlin came into the tavern implied that he was clueless, but then again, he _had_ been rather drunk then. Maybe Arthur had said something that Gwaine would only figure out when he was sober. There was no way to tell until the drink wore off.

At least he was sleeping off his drinking spree in one of the guest rooms. Arthur had insisted. Loudly. It turned out that he was a surprisingly affectionate drunk.

All in all, it had been a worrisome end to a long and fruitless day. He'd managed to figure out that the code wasn't a straight replacement cipher; Sigan had used different codes for different letters, and Merlin had no idea which codes he'd used or how he'd kept the bloody thing straight in his head. For all he knew, every single encrypted section used a different code that would have to be broken individually. With his luck, he wouldn't be surprised.

At least contacting the druids had gone well. He'd called out to them in thought-speech a couple hours after noon. Although they had been several miles from Tintagel, one of their sorceresses had been strong enough to maintain a telepathic connection with him for a few minutes. Through her, Merlin had gained the headwoman's permission to bring Arthur and the ladies to visit their camp—provided he left behind his weapons. The druids knew who he was meant to be, who he was becoming… but they also knew who he had been, and Merlin could hardly fault them for their caution.

When not talking with the druids, trying to crack Sigan's code, or not-so-silently cursing Sigan's name, Merlin had tried to spend time with Morgana and Gwen. The lady's cousin had picked up that she was upset about something and had decided that the best way to cheer her up was by sticking to her like a limpet. Thankfully she was a natural at thought-speech, so she and Merlin had still been able to discuss Arthur's new knowledge of her magic. Gwen didn't have any relatives attached to her side (Elyan was training with the guard), so his conversations with her took place out loud. She knew about the People's Queen now, and Merlin had somehow managed to avoid continuing their discussion about his supposed relationship with Morgana, which was, of course, no more real than his so-called position as 'magical royalty.'

And he was not, had never been, and would never be magical royalty, despite what anyone said.

With his friends occupied, his charge drunk, and his patience with Cornelius Sigan completely exhausted, Merlin went to bed early. He dreamed of letters shifting and swimming before his eyes and woke up almost as tired as when he'd gone to bed.

Arthur was even less enthusiastic than usual about being awakened. Merlin dropped him off at the resident physician's chambers and went to scout out the newest potential threat to his wellbeing: Arthur's drinking buddy.

Gwaine and Merlin had interacted a little last night, when the manservant realized that his prince was in the tavern and went to fetch him. Arthur had refused to be parted from the man. Gwaine, for his part, had wanted to see proof that Arthur really was the prince "becush I acshully like him, I don't believe thish shlander." Of course, the man had passed out not long after receiving proof that yes, this was in fact Arthur Pendragon. Merlin wasn't sure if that was the alcohol or the shock. Probably the alcohol. He'd drunk an awful lot last night.

Despite the (copious, copious) quantities of mead he had imbibed, Gwaine was already awake and lively when Merlin knocked on the door of the hastily assembled guest room Arthur had commandeered for him. He was putting on his boots when the warlock arrived, giving Merlin a chance to take stock of him.

Gwaine was Arthur's age, give or take a couple years, with a wild mane of brown curls and a quick smile for the servant inspecting him. He was built like a fighter rather than a farmer, an impression only strengthened by the short sword at his hip. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Merlin replied. The other man wasn't acting like he knew anything, but maybe he just didn't realize what was going on. Time to test the waters. "I'm Merlin, Arthur's manservant."

"Gwaine. Apparently I'm his drinking buddy now."

"Yes, you mentioned that last night."

"That's right." Gwaine grinned. "I guess I did. You were the one who got us out of the tavern, right?"

"Right," Merlin confirmed.

"Thanks for that! And thanks for talking the princess into paying my tab."

Merlin's eyebrow quirked. His lips twitched. For a moment, he forgot his worry about Gwaine having heard something. "Princess?"

"It fits him, don't you think?"

Either he was a really good actor or he genuinely had no idea that Merlin was a warlock, which meant that Arthur had kept his mouth shut. Merlin would bet it was the latter—Gwaine hadn't even blinked at his identity.

"It does," the warlock admitted, not trying to hide his grin.

He had a feeling he was going to like this one.

* * *

It had taken Gaius far too long to get ahold of Alator, but hopefully the delay wouldn't cost them too much. Hopefully Gaius's plan could buy them some time, long enough for Merlin to get back.

The Catha listened to the physician's theory with an expression of steadily increasing dismay. "Have you any proof?" he asked when Gaius was done.

"I'm afraid not," the other man admitted. "If it is Sigan, he's being very careful to not let his eyes give him away. But this isn't like him."

Alator stared. "It isn't like the Butcher to declare war at the slightest provocation?" He… did not sound particularly convinced.

"Not like this," Gaius told him. "If he had declared war right after the assassination attempt, I would not have thought it out of character. He nearly did, though Arthur was able to talk him out of it. But to wait this long and then start a new war when he knows that Cornelius Sigan is running amok in his capital, when Emrys is subverting everything he's worked for, when you and your Catha engineered the greatest jailbreak in history right under his nose? Uther is vindictive and vengeful, yes, but he's not a fool."

Alator hesitated for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Lord Emrys is in Tintagel still, is he not?"

"Yes," Gaius confirmed.

The Catha did not ask Emrys's identity. He didn't need to. Thought-speech would let him (or, should he choose, one of his men drafted into messenger duty) find the other spellbinder without knowing who he was. Instead he nodded, firm and resolute. "Very well. Was there anything else our lord needs to know?"

"There is. I'm going to poison Uther, keep him bedridden so Sigan can't use him to cause any more damage."

It was a calculated risk, but one he felt would be worth it. He'd originally thought to knock Uther out completely, save him from the misery of possession (according to Geoffrey, the king was fully aware of what his body was doing, could even hear a few of Sigan's thoughts), but that was too risky. There was nothing to keep Sigan from wandering around as a spirit while his stolen body slept, wreaking all kinds of havoc and potentially discovering that certain people suspected his current identity. No. Much as it pained him to make his friend suffer more, he had to provide a poison which would keep Uther—and, more importantly, Sigan—awake but too sick to rule the kingdom or, say, get into magical duels with reckless young warlocks attempting to save the citadel.

The thought made Gaius wince. Merlin wouldn't really—no, he probably would. "Also, _please_ tell Emrys not to rush in recklessly and get himself killed. He has a nasty tendency to do things like that, but he mustn't get himself killed."

"Or possessed," Alator agreed.

The two men shuddered at that. Uther possessed by Cornelius Sigan was bad enough, but Camelot could handle mad kings and kings who made terrible decisions. It had endured monarchs like that in the past. If Merlin were possessed, though, Sigan would be able to combine his own formidable strength with the legendary raw power of Emrys.

The city wouldn't last a minute. Earthquake, flood, fire… Sigan would erase it from the map, knocking down buildings like a child with blocks. Tens of thousands would die in mere instants.

And there would be no one to stop him.

Gaius forced the thoughts away, shaking his head as though that would physically slough them from his brain. He couldn't think too much about what Sigan would do if he got ahold of Merlin; he'd get nightmares. Again. He had to focus on what he could do, which was contain the situation until Merlin arrived to carefully, cautiously take care of things. He wished it wasn't necessary, that he could end Sigan himself, but Gaius wasn't fool enough to believe that he could. He lacked the power, the knowledge (he hadn't had nearly enough time with the grimoire with his apprentice gone), the sheer instinct that would allow a mere mortal to defeat the spellbinder who had raised the kingdom.

Merlin had the instinct and the power, if not the knowledge. That frightened Gaius. Applied properly, knowledge could easily overpower instinct and power, especially if those two traits were combined with the sort of recklessness that his ward still hadn't outgrown (though in Merlin's defense, he was much better than he'd been when he'd first arrived in Camelot). Gaius had to temper that somehow.

"Could you ask him to meet with me before confronting Sigan?" the physician asked, latching onto the only plan he could think of. "I may have more information by then." And it would hopefully keep Merlin from doing anything ridiculous.

"I had intended to," Alator replied. "I will be present at the meeting as well."

Gaius started. "Thank you, but why?"

"Because I was charged to keep the citadel safe, and he might need reinforcements." The Catha grimaced. "And because we will perhaps have found the anchor by then."

"Perhaps it's with Uther," Gaius suggested, struck by a sudden thought. After all, where better to stash the source of Sigan's immortality than with his current host? Except, he remembered, Geoffrey hadn't had the anchor on him. The genealogist didn't even know what it was, meaning that he hadn't touched it.

"We think that it must be warded somehow," Alator said. "I am the only one adept at spirit walking, but either it isn't in the citadel or he has found some way to block its magic from my sight. Gods know I've been on enough spirit walks that I should have seen it by now."

"So has Emrys," Gaius reassured him.

"I could try again, though," Alator murmured thoughtfully. "Sweep the Butcher's chambers more thoroughly than I have the rest of the citadel…."

"If you do, wait until he's fallen ill."

"Of course. No need to risk myself needlessly. Tell me, when will your poisons take effect?"

"As soon as I can get them into him," Gaius replied.

Alator gave him an odd look, almost angry, but said nothing. "And when will that be?" he asked, suddenly cool.

Gaius considered. It was night now, the sun long set, the moon bright in a black sky. Unless possessed kings didn't need to sleep (possessed historians certainly had needed to sleep), Uther was in bed already. Hopefully that meant that Sigan was dormant too, keeping up his possession lest Uther wake in the middle of the night and expose him. Judging from Geoffrey's experience, that seemed all too likely. This meant that the earliest opportunity Gaius would have to poison him would be in the morning. He could hardly wake the man just to make him drink something.

"Breakfast," Gaius answered, sounding more confident than he felt. He'd never poisoned anyone before, but hopefully he could find some way to slip something into Uther's morning meal. Perhaps he could sneak something into the king's favorite breakfast wine? Or maybe he could slip into the kitchens at night and contaminate… no, someone would notice. The breakfast wine it was, then, and thank the gods for Uther's habit of taking a (small, of course) goblet full of wine with his breakfast. Gaius had never approved of the habit before—even if it wasn't enough to get him drunk, it still seemed unhealthy—but now the thought brought him naught but relief. "I can get it to him at breakfast."

Alator was still giving him that odd look, his lips pressed together. "Good. If there is nothing else, I will send the message to Emrys now."

"I cannot think of anything else," Gaius admitted, wondering what he had done wrong. "Thank you."

Alator nodded and left without a word.

* * *

Slowly—very, very slowly—his world was beginning to right itself.

Merlin was Emrys was Merlin was apparently high-ranking enough in magical society (because magical society apparently _existed_ ) to be considered the next closest thing to royalty. Morgana had magic. Guinevere had known, had supported them, had managed to talk Merlin into confessing (presumably she would have done the same to Morgana, once she saw Merlin's admission sink in without any irreparable damage to their master-servant relationship). He himself had been born from magic, and the Purge—something he'd always been taught was integral to the kingdom's wellbeing—was nothing more than Uther's rampage of revenge against his own mistakes. Magic wasn't evil. It didn't corrupt any more than any other sort of power.

He had been surrounded by lies his entire life, but now he was beginning to see the truth. The light still hurt his eyes, but… he thought he was getting better.

At least he knew, Arthur told himself, listening to Cador's monologue with half an ear. The Lord of Tintagel had blamed himself for the prince's journey to a tavern, reasoning that if he'd spent more time with Arthur rather than Morgana, his future king would never have gotten bored enough to indulge in drink.

It wasn't Cador's fault, of course. It was Arthur's. He should never have gone and gotten himself drunk in some random tavern just because everything he'd ever known was a lie, everyone he'd ever known was keeping enormous secrets from him, and if he thought about it too much or too long, he felt a bit like he was drowning. Arthur was the Crown Prince of Camelot and really ought to be able to handle himself better. What kind of person would he be if he turned to alcohol in every crisis? And—worse—what if he'd said something to Gwaine, to the barkeep, to some random other customer that got Merlin torn apart by an angry mob?

(Which begged the question of whether or not an angry mob could, in fact, tear apart his secret warlock of a manservant, which was a very disturbing line of thought that he determined to pursue no further.)

Grimacing, Arthur forced his thoughts away from his bloody fool of a magical manservant. Cador was talking. The man probably already thought he was an idiot after the incident with the tavern, but there was no need to reinforce the impression by staring off into space like a moonstruck cow.

What was Cador talking about again? Oh, good, it was just some story about his childhood, not anything Arthur actually needed to know.

Somehow, Arthur kept up his focus until the dinner was over. It wasn't until he went to bed that night that his thoughts came back to haunt him, leaving him tossing and turning.

That was why he was still awake to hear a sudden crash in the room next to him.

Arthur was up in a heartbeat, his tiredness forgotten. That was Merlin's temporary room. Had someone come in? Was Merlin in dang—oh, right, he was a spellbinder and secretly capable of taking care of himself, not that he ever acted that way. Wait. Didn't some spellbinders use magic in their sleep? That…that could be bad. Hopefully Merlin wasn't sleep-magicking. But just in case he was, Arthur should probably go wake him up. Nodding his new resolution, the prince rolled out of bed, made his way to the door.

Merlin was not, in fact, sleep-magicking. He was sitting upright on his bed, the expression on his face (from what Arthur could make out in the darkness, at least) somewhere between worry and concentration. He glanced over at his prince as Arthur entered, then tapped the side of head and made a silencing gesture.

"What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, his voice startlingly loud in the night.

"Urgent thought-speech message," was Merlin's response. "Now _shh_."

"What's thought-speech?" Arthur asked.

Merlin glared at him but didn't answer, so Arthur repeated his question. Merlin pressed his hands over his ears and shut his eyes.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur growled.

"I'm using my thoughts to speak with someone, and he's talking back," Merlin ground out. "And it's a very important conversation, so I have to pay attention."

Arthur hadn't known that spellbinders could do that. He wondered if Merlin had been indulging in this thought-speech thing with Morgana. It would certainly explain a lot.

But now that he knew what was going on, Arthur found himself faced with another dilemma—a minor one, yes, but still something he wasn't quite certain about. Should he try to sleep again, or should he stay here until Merlin was done with his magical business and find out what was going on? After a few moments' deliberation, Arthur decided on the latter. He hadn't been able to sleep anyways, and curiosity would only help keep him up.

After a few more minutes, Merlin looked up at Arthur and gave a long groan. The older man raised an eyebrow. "Well? What's so important that your magic friends woke you in the middle of the night to share it?"

"You aren't going to like it," Merlin replied.

Of course he wasn't. "Just spit it out then."

"Okay." Merlin took a deep breath, then announced, "Your father has probably been possessed by Cornelius Sigan."

* * *

Alternate chapter title (which I didn't forget this time, yay!): " _In Which Arthur Is Basically That One Guy Who Won't Shut up When You're on the Phone"_

Sorry about forgetting last chapter's alternate title. I went back and fixed it.

Next update: October 20. Arthur reacts to even more shocking news. Gaius implements his plan. Things go wrong (or maybe that's the next chapter. I don't know. Haven't written it yet.)

See you then!

-Antares


	20. Sigan's Host

Chapter XX: Sigan's Host

Two birds locked in battle.

One was dark as shadow, with a faint oily sheen of blue purple green ghosting across its plumage. Its eyes were darker still, twin holes in the world that devoured all light. Its beak and claws glinted in the firelight, so much sharper than a raven's should be.

Its enemy was brighter: a white breast spotted with rust-red, its outer wings blue-gray, its smoky tail barred with cream. Its hooked beak was yellow that faded to gray at the sharp tip. Its golden eyes seemed almost to glow like twin suns.

They were equal in size, these adversaries, or so close to equal that Morgana could not see a difference. The raven and the falcon were moving so much, so quickly, that it was hard to see sometimes. They beat at each other with their wings, clawed with their splayed talons, lunged with their bloody beaks.

The birds had a strategy, Morgana observed. The raven preferred attacking the falcon's wings, tearing out feathers to litter the ground, slashing at vulnerable joints. The falcon aimed for the head: the eyes, the snapping beak, the weak spot where spine met neck, though its opportunities to attack that juncture were few and far between.

"How long are they going to fight?" Morgana asked quietly, forcing herself to turn away.

The other person—except he wasn't exactly a person, now, was he?—shrugged. "You're the Seer," he said to her. "You tell me."

He looked like Merlin, spoke with Merlin's voice, even sometimes acted like him, but the dream-construct was just that: a construct, created by something in Morgana's mind or magic to guide her in her prophetic dreams. They stood together on the road she had visited so many times in the past year, the symbolic embodiment of her choice between Arthur and Morgause. Well, Morgana had made _that_ choice easily: she stood a few feet beyond the place the road split in half, heading for Arthur rather than her probable half-sister.

He (it, technically, but it was hard to think of the dream-construct as an it when he wore Merlin's face) had given her… not quite advice, exactly, before, but little snippets of knowledge. Don't worry about the griffin, it will be taken care of. Why, yes, that horrible monster is indeed a Questing Beast. Morgana should have expected a blasé answer from him just from his past 'advice,' but she'd still hoped that he would speak plainly for once. This was _important_.

"I don't know," Morgana ground out, frustrated. Not for the first time, she wished that Merlin knew more about Seeing or that he'd been able to introduce her to a less cryptic potential teacher on the Isle of the Blessed. "I suppose you won't tell me who's going to win, either."

The dream-construct's unrepentant grin was so like Merlin's that she couldn't help but soften a little. "That depends on them, now, doesn't it?"

Morgana looked back at the birds. They were further away from her now, so closely locked in combat that she could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. "Merlin's going to win. He's the one with this great foreordained destiny to save magic in Albion."

Except sometimes she wondered if he already had. Arthur was reacting so much better to the news of his—of their—true nature than she had expected, and though he tried to hide it, everyone in the know realized that he was very seriously reconsidering the laws against magic. If Merlin were to fail in his fight against Sigan—if he were to take Sigan down with him—Arthur would be a good king, a worthy one. Not as good as he would be with Merlin as his advisor, of course, but still good.

The magical side of things was a bit harder to predict. Despite his many denials, Merlin was the closest thing their kin had to royalty. He was their leader, their figurehead, the one who had inspired them to come together and fight back. If he fell to Sigan, someone else would have to take over or the movement would splinter. If that someone was, say, Balinor, the resistance would be in good hands. If Morgause won, though….

So clearly, Merlin had to survive his destined encounter with Sigan, because that was the only surefire way to guarantee the prophecies' fulfillment. He had defeated Nimueh. He would be fine.

He had to be.

* * *

"Finished swearing yet?"

If Arthur had had magic, his glare would probably have made Merlin's head explode. "No," the prince growled, then let loose a few more expletives just to make sure his… dissatisfaction… was known.

"Look on the bright side," Merlin advised. "At least we know where he is now. Well, probably. Assuming Gaius is right."

Sudden hope brightened Arthur's eyes. "Why _does_ Gaius think he's possessed?"

The warlock relayed the information he'd been given: Uther's odd war, Geoffrey's suspicions, Gaius's plans. Arthur listened with a steadily deepening scowl. "Even if he is possessed, this war with Odin will have serious ramifications."

"Are you sure? He signed that treaty with Bayard after literally throwing him into the dungeons."

"Odin's not Bayard," Arthur replied. "I doubt he'll accept 'I was possessed' as an excuse." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I've stayed here too long. I need to go back."

"I can bring you tomorrow night," Merlin volunteered.

Arthur pulled up short. "What?"

"To Camelot. I can't bring you tonight because Gaius hasn't poisoned him yet, but we could go tomorrow. I might have cracked the code by then; I have a pretty good idea of what he did and just need to find the right word. We can rendezvous with Gaius, get more information, and make a plan to defeat Sigan."

Arthur continued to stare. "But… oh. You can teleport."

"Exactly."

He was still staring. Merlin shifted, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "What?"

"You're acting uncharacteristically competent," Arthur replied.

"Get used to it," Merlin advised, grinning. "I know I'm not the best at chores, but magic?" His eyes flared gold as a ball of light appeared in his hand. "That's my area."

"Put that out," Arthur hissed, glaring at the orb.

Merlin blinked in surprise—it wasn't like anyone was going to see them, not at this hour of the night—but obediently extinguished the light.

Arthur was silent for a long moment, but then he gave himself a little shake and went back to business. "Right. Tomorrow night. We'll need…." A scowl twisted his face. "Do you have any idea how to extract Sigan?"

The warlock leaned back against the wall, brow furrowing in thought. "Maybe you could give him a little scratch with Excalibur and see if that kills the—no, wait, Excalibur set the wraith on fire. I assume you want to avoid that."

"Of course I want to avoid that!"

"Yes, I thought so. Hm." Merlin thought a little more. An idea was beginning to form, one that made nervousness pool in the pit of his belly. "I might have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

"I don't like anything about this situation, Merlin."

"Unless I crack the code tomorrow—well, technically today, I guess—we don't have any way of forcing Sigan out of his host body. We need to lure him out with something he wants."

"No." Arthur shook his head. " _No_ , Merlin, you are _not_ using yourself as bait."

"But if you stabbed his incorporeal form before he possessed me—"

"What part of 'no' do you not understand?"

"—he would probably be destroyed."

" _Probably_ ," Arthur echoed, seizing the opportunity. "And what happens if your oh-so-brilliant plan doesn't work?"

"Beothaich?"

"I don't speak spellbinder gibberish, Merlin."

"My staff," the warlock reminded him. He was reasonably certain he'd mentioned it before, possibly when they went to get Excalibur, but maybe he hadn't, or maybe the name had slipped Arthur's mind. A lot had happened since then.

"And if your staff doesn't work, he'll get what he wants."

"If the staff doesn't work, I pause time, grab you, and run like hell."

Arthur's jaw sagged. His eyes were wide as saucers. " _You can pause time_?"

"Yes."

"Is—is that _normal_ for warlocks?"

Merlin blushed, glanced away. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly." Arthur stared, considering. Then, slowly, like he didn't actually want to know the answer, he asked, "Just how strong are you anyways? Are you a mage?"

"Yes."

The prince nodded. His tongue darted out to lick dry lips before he inquired, with that same careful slowness, "And relative to Sigan?"

Merlin swallowed. "In terms of raw power, I'm stronger. But, Arthur, that isn't all that matters when it comes to magic. You need skill, knowledge, and experience too."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "So if he manages to possess you, he'll more than double his power _and_ have the experience to make the most of it."

"…theoretically," Merlin was forced to admit. "I mean, we've never seen him possess someone with magic before, so maybe he won't be able to use mine."

"I'm not going to gamble Camelot on that possibility. You are _not_ going to use yourself as bait, Merlin."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Can't you do some kind of, I don't know, long-distance sleep spell, or—" He paused, a frown on his face. "But we don't even know if he is in my father." The frown deepened.

"Even if he's not, that's really just delaying the problem," Merlin pointed out.

Arthur made a vague waving gesture. He's clearly deep in thought. "But you were searching for him before, right? With some… magical walking thing."

"Spirit walking!" Merlin exclaimed, instantly realizing what his friend meant (and feeling like a bit of a fool for not thinking of that before. "You're absolutely right. I can do that right now, then again tomorrow night to make sure that Sigan hasn't jumped ship."

Arthur grimaced slightly. "Then you ought to do that, I suppose."

It was strange, setting up the ritual with his prince watching. He offered to explain what he was doing, but Arthur just winced. That didn't stop him from watching, though, staring at everything Merlin did with intensity in his eyes. It was actually a bit uncomfortable. Still, Merlin had done this many times before when he looked for Sigan in the citadel, so it didn't take him long to finish his preparations.

Soon he was out of his body, an insubstantial wraith in the halls of Camelot. Teleportation was a lot easier in this form; he just had to picture his destination and will himself to be there. He appeared in the physician's chambers, where Gaius lay abed. The old man's face was pensive, worried, even in the depths of sleep.

Merlin heaved a silent sigh and left him to his rest.

For the first time, there were actually guards patrolling the castle. Donald was much more competent than Sullivan; good thing the guards all thought he had insomnia, so they wouldn't be too suspicious should they ever find him wandering the halls. Well, not unless he was doing something blatantly illegal. Fortunately for him, he was very good at concealing his less lawful activities.

He… should probably not be so proud of that.

Merlin slowed as he approached Uther's chambers. He still wasn't certain if Sigan could see him when he spirit walked, so he needed to be cautious. Finally he peeked through the wall.

Uther was fast asleep. To most people, he probably appeared peaceful, or at least as peaceful as he ever was. Merlin, though, could see through skin and bone to view the spirit within.

Or, in this case, the _spirits_.

There was something viscerally unnerving about seeing two souls in the same form, especially when the personalities were not so dissimilar. Both were scarred, both swirling and boiling with old rage. But one covered the other like a film of lamp oil on water, pressing it down, forcing it into compliance.

Uther's body was still, but Merlin looked beyond his flesh and wondered if the king and the specter were still somehow aware. He wished that he'd thought to ask Geoffrey what it was like to sleep while possessed.

The oily presence that was Cornelius Sigan twisted suddenly, a flare like newly fed fire. Merlin jerked back through the wall, across the country, into his body in Tintagel. He awoke with a jolt and a gasp.

The motion startled Arthur into jumping, too. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Well," Merlin said, "the good news is that we know where Sigan is."

Arthur sank back into his chair. "So he is possessing my father."

"Yes." Merlin stepped out of the circle of ash, went over to lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. "He is."

Arthur closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they were full of determination. "Do you know any way of getting him out?"

Now it was Merlin's turn to close his eyes. "I don't know. I'm _this_ close to cracking the code, but I don't know if the grimoire has instructions on how to make him stop possessing people."

"…Then you focus on the code and I'll focus on making the plan. Plans, I suppose. One if you can find a way, one if you can't."

"And backups," Merlin suggested helpfully.

The prince scowled, at least a little distracted. Merlin hid a smile. Mission accomplished. "Yes, Merlin. Backups too. Now, get a couple hours of sleep so you actually stand a chance of figuring out your illegal book."

"Still fixated on that, are you?"

" _Merlin_."

The warlock held up his hands in a placating gesture. "All right, all right, as long as you sleep too. You'll need brainpower more than me if you want to make a decent set of plans."

Arthur grimaced but jerked his head in a nod.

As soon as his prince was out of the room, Merlin closed his eyes and called on his power. Time paused.

This magic would buy him perhaps half an hour, if he was lucky. No longer. So he'd better make every minute count.

* * *

Gaius wanted to scream.

He had thought himself so clever, coming up with a way to incapacitate Sigan and the king. He'd never even considered that Sigan might recognize that he was being poisoned.

He'd never expected to be possessed himself.

There had been a brief moment when Uther was free. The king, weak as he was from the fast-acting compound, had tried to lunge after the smoky spirit. He'd tried to call a warning. But by then Sigan had taken Gaius over, and a quick sleep spell knocked Uther right out.

The possession would have been bad enough on its own, but it came with certain additions that made Gaius shudder even to think about. While possessing Geoffrey, Sigan had been able to access the historian's memories. He'd impersonated the other man so well that nobody had noticed any quirks in his behavior. Now that Sigan had Gaius, he could do the same to the physician.

He had seen Gaius's memories.

He knew about Merlin.

He knew that Merlin was coming tonight. All he needed to do to possess the most powerful warlock in human history was wait a few short hours for Merlin to come to him.

Gaius tried thought-speech. He shouted silently for Anhora and his Catha, but they did not respond. Either they were out of range—doubtful, for they would never leave a potential Sigan host unless Emrys was there—or the spirit had some way of preventing his victims from even this form of communication.

Still, he kept trying, calling out for Merlin again and again as the night fell.

"That's not going to work, you know," his voice sighed. Gaius could feel the air vibrating in his throat, feel his tongue and lips form the words, but he couldn't control any of it. The experience of his own mouth talking to him was even more disturbing, somehow, than the usual horribleness of possession. "He can't hear you."

" _Then why_ ," Gaius sent back, " _are you so insistent that I stop?"_

A sigh. "I want you to stop because your attempts to find help are growing tiresome."

" _All the more reason to continue_ ," Gaius declared. Perhaps he was not as pigheaded as his ward, but he too could be stubborn when the need arose.

The door opened.

" _MERLIN_!" Gaius screamed.

Geoffrey of Monmouth didn't hear him. Instead, he strode up to the man he thought was his friend and asked, "Why did you change your plan?"

"I'm sorry?" Sigan asked, lifting Gaius's eyebrow in his signature expression of mild, skeptical curiosity.

"The plan to keep Uther ill but conscious so Sigan couldn't escape," Geoffrey reminded him.

And Gaius felt the first stirrings of hope. If Geoffrey realized what was going on—if Geoffrey could escape with that knowledge—he wasn't quite certain what the archivist could do with this knowledge, but perhaps then they would have a chance.

Sigan shook Gaius's head. "The king's body had an unexpected reaction to the potion I used. He will be well."

"As long as Sigan doesn't escape, find a new host, and kill Uther to hide the evidence," Geoffrey muttered darkly.

"I strongly doubt he will risk losing his pawn like that," Sigan assured him.

" _So why did you risk it_?" Gaius asked, suddenly suspicious.

The ancient warlock ignored him. "The king is a useful host. He can create policies, laws, wars, that destroy the entire kingdom, not just the citadel. I suspect that only Emrys himself would prove more tempting."

" _Is that why? You thought I might have knowledge of his identity, so you risked taking me over. I suppose that I would be an easier kill than Uther; you could poison me or enchant me, then let the blame fall on my age. Even if I did not know the truth of him, you'd still be eliminating someone who knew to poison you."_

"Yes," murmured Geoffrey. Gaius's hopes sank. Apparently his friend had fallen for Sigan's tricks. "Will Uther be all right?"

"Undoubtedly."

Gaius kept trying. He called out to Geoffrey in thought-speech. When that failed, he tried shouting at Sigan, hoping to distract him at crucial moments in his now-inane conversation with the court historian. That didn't work either. Geoffrey left without ever suspecting that Gaius was possessed.

That, or he was an excellent actor and was even now raising the alarm. Gaius could only hope.

Evening faded into night. The citadel went to sleep. Gaius and the monster wearing his shape remained awake, their shared eyes fixed on an old tome. Once in a while, Gaius would try to call out for someone, anyone, in the hopes that Sigan was distracted by what he was reading. It didn't work.

Finally, when the sun had long ago set and the chamber was lit only by candle flame, the door slid open. Merlin strode in, staff in hand, accompanied by—

"Arthur?" exclaimed Sigan, a perfect rendition of Gaius's own reaction.

"Yes," said Arthur. "That's me. Merlin here has told me a few things."

"Yes," agreed Merlin. "I did." He nodded several times.

Gaius focused all his attention, all his magic, on the younger warlock. " _IT'S A TRAP!"_

No response.

Sigan stood, a benign smile on his stolen face. " _Swefne_."

The sleeping spell hit Merlin like a bludgeon, and with similar effects. He crumpled to the ground, completely unconscious.

Arthur yelled and grabbed at his sword, but Sigan waved his hand and the prince slammed into the wall.

And then Gaius was shouting his ward's name, the word rising freely to his lips as a bluish mist plumed from every opening in his face. It hung in the air for half a moment, then shot over towards Merlin.

Towards _Emrys_ , the most powerful warlock to ever live.

If Gaius had not been so panicked, perhaps he would have heard Arthur begin to speak.

* * *

...So it turns out that I am indeed alive. I... yeah, no, this was a pretty pathetic break, and I can only apologize. But I think I've gotten over all the crap that sucked away all my creative juices, so hopefully I can resume an updating schedule.

Next chapter: June 15. Crap hits fan. Sigan makes his move. Perhaps, if we're lucky, Merlin and Arthur will be able to fight back.

Alternate chapter title (that I forgot about entirely until reminded by my wonderful reviewers): " _In Which Merlin Continues to Alarm Arthur without even Trying"_

-Antares


	21. Feint and Draw

Chapter XXII: Feint and Draw

"Are you sure that he can't see through illusions?" Arthur asked quietly, tightening his grip on Beothaich.

"Not without the proper spell," Merlin replied. "Or at least not when he's possessing Gaius. He might be able to once we get him out, though."

"If he does—"

"If he does, I'll just have to act even more quickly," Merlin replied, his lips pressed together.

Arthur scowled. "And you're still not certain if the weapons can kill him?"

"You're the one who wondered if they could," Merlin pointed out.

At some point during the emergency planning session after Merlin's second spirit-walking expedition discovered that Gaius was possessed, Arthur had raised an unfortunately valid point: while dragon-burnished weapons worked on conventional undead, Cornelius Sigan was something entirely new. Maybe whatever magic he'd used for his immortality was immune to dragonfire. Yes, Sophia had said that Excalibur could kill him, but how could she know for certain when a being like Sigan had never before existed? Or perhaps the weapons needed to attack Sigan's anchor lest his spirit regenerate. They'd think they had defeated him only for a blue mist to seep into Merlin's body in the dead of night.

It was _probably_ a stupid doubt. They both knew that. But it had nonetheless wormed its way into their minds, had inspired this part—all parts, really—of their probably-foolish scheme.

"But you are certain that he won't be able to see through these illusions," Arthur continued, gesturing to the glamor hiding his face, the glamor that made him look like Merlin.

The warlock managed to not roll his eyes. Technically Arthur's eyes, he supposed, as he was wearing a glamor too. "Yes."

Arthur grimaced before donning an expression of pure determination. Merlin, looking at him, blinked. Oh. _That_ was what he looked like when he got all pigheaded.

"Then let's do this," Arthur muttered, clutching Beothaich in his hands. "I'll go first."

Merlin nodded.

The prince opened the door to Gaius's chambers, strode inside. To Gaius and Sigan, it looked like Merlin was the one to enter.

Unless Merlin was wrong and spirits like Cornelius Sigan actually could see through illusion spells. Then they were in a great deal of trouble.

But he couldn't. Sigan-as-Gaius inquired after why Merlin-who-he-thought-was-Arthur was there. Then, smiling benignly, he cast a sleep spell.

Arthur dropped like a stone. Merlin yelped, instinctively grabbing at Excalibur. Sigan waved his hand, knocking the younger warlock up against the wall. He then proceeded to completely ignore 'Prince Arthur,' seeping out of Gaius's mouth and eyes and nose as a softly glowing blue mist.

" _Swefne_ ," Merlin whispered, directing the spell at his unconscious friend. There was a possibility—a high possibility, in fact—that the sleep spell would do nothing. There was also a possibility that it would slow Sigan down, interfering with the mechanics of possession or affecting his ability to sift through victims' memories or keeping him from moving Arthur's body for a few crucial seconds. Quietly, so as to prevent the Sigan-mist from hearing (it didn't have ears, but Merlin and his fellow code-interpreter Gwen had only begun to scratch the surface of the grimoire and had no idea what senses the spirit might have), he began his next working.

When Sigan had been creating his immortality spell, he hadn't really thought of possession as a long-term survival strategy. Instead, he'd devised a way to create a new body for himself. He hadn't thought about the potential uses of possession until much later, possibly even until his not-quite-death.

The spell, thankfully and surprisingly, was actually rather straightforward. It didn't require extensive setup or planetary conjugations or anything, just a few herbs and the four elements. Those ingredients were easy enough to acquire in the physician's chambers, especially since Merlin had finally figured out Gaius's system of categorization. A bit of telekinesis and a lit candle, and the spell was ready.

Gaius's frantic shouting had petered off into confused silence, which became a sharp inhale of realization when Merlin dropped his illusion. " _Alator_!" he cried silently. He called Beothaich back to him—he might need the energy boost—then gave his entire attention to the spell.

" _Deofolscin fram flœsce ond flœsc fram deofolscine, onwac. Heortscrœf ond blod, ban ond hrycgmearg, onwac. Orpung aldorbanan, onwac_!"

The spirit flowed out of Arthur, a great plume of blue smoke. Though it had no eyes, the cloud's gaze fixed on Merlin.

" _Cornelius Sigan_ ," Merlin cried, " _þú borgfæst blode ond bane ond orpunge aldorbanan_."

The spirit recognized the incantation. He surged towards Merlin, towards his mouth and eyes.

" _Onwac_!" Merlin shouted one final time.

There was a sound like a river rushing over a cliff. The air rushed all throughout the room, charged with an electric intensity. Beothaich flared with yellow light, its crystal nearly as incandescent as the sun. Merlin's eyes closed almost involuntarily, but his vision was still alight with that golden blaze.

The light died down. Something thunked; someone gasped. Merlin opened his eyes.

There was a new person in the room, a pale naked man with gray-streaked black hair and a beard to match. His eyes were dark and wide and stunned.

Merlin grinned, then passed out.

* * *

Arthur came to all at once, his muscles jerking as one. He gazed around wildly, taking in a scene of chaos in what had once been Gaius's chambers.

The old physician half-dragged him to his feet. "Are you all right?" he demanded. "Any side effects from the possession?"

Arthur shook his head. "I was unconscious. I don't remember anything."

Gaius's smile was wan and pained. "Then you are lucky indeed."

"Where is Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

"Not now," said a man Arthur didn't know, probably the Alator person who had apparently sworn fealty to his manservant. "We need to flee, now."

Gaius grimaced but nodded.

The room was destroyed. Two walls had been destroyed entirely. Splintered shelves and shards of glass lay everywhere. A small fire smoldered nearby a rubble pile. Three bodies lay crumpled in the debris.

"They don't know I'm your ally," Gaius assured them. "I'll stay here. You get Merlin away from here."

"But—" began Arthur.

Gaius collapsed onto a destroyed table and closed his eyes, obviously playing unconsciousness. Alator stretched out his hand and muttered something in the language of sorcery. A form flew over to them. Merlin, out cold. The Catha pulled up his hood and pressed Merlin's face against his chest. He, Arthur, and a third Catha ran.

" _You know the citadel better than I,"_ the spellbinder's voice said in Arthur's head. " _Lead the way_."

Arthur nodded. He led them towards the closest secret passage. Unfortunately, it was already blocked.

The prince suppressed a curse and changed direction for another out-of-the-way corridor. The third Catha stopped him, grabbing him by the arm. " _I hear something."_

Arthur swallowed a curse.

Why the hell had they decided to hire a competent captain?

…Oh, right. They needed one. It was just very inconvenient from this side of the law.

Suddenly he realized why Merlin was always so cool towards Donald.

Merlin. Bizarre as it seemed, Merlin was probably the most accomplished criminal he knew. What would Merlin do in this situation?

Arthur ducked into one of the conveniently located alcoves. Alator and the other Catha followed him. In a low voice, the prince asked, "Can either of you teleport?"

"Not after fighting Sigan and enchanting the door," Alator murmured back. That explained why the guards hadn't already been swarming through Gaius's chambers.

"Um." What else could Merlin do? "Pause time?"

The other Catha's jaw sagged. "Embries can _pause time_?"

"No," said Alator.

What else, what else? "Illusions. Can you make us invisible or something?"

They exchanged glances. "Only for short periods when the guards are here," Alator finally told him. "Driving off Sigan took a great deal of energy."

The next few hours were some of the tensest of Arthur's life. They had to stay as quiet as possible, their ears straining. The younger Catha managed to fall asleep, his way of regaining energy. That left Alator in charge of illusions. Whenever they heard footsteps, Alator's eyes flashed gold as he mouthed his arcane words.

Finally, Merlin stirred. Unlike Arthur, he regained consciousness slowly, blinking at them in bleary confusion.

The prince pressed a finger to his lips.

Memory returned. Merlin's eyes went wide. " _What's going on?_ "

" _You successfully bound Sigan to a new form, but we were unable to contain him. He escaped, and now we are laying low to avoid the guardsmen of Camelot."_

Merlin sighed silently. " _I miss Sullivan._ " He closed his eyes. "… _How many of your men died?"_

Alator held up three fingers. Merlin flinched. _"I'm so sorry._ " He glanced at the sleeping Catha. " _Is he all right? I don't know much healing magic yet, but I have some basic medical training. And what about Gaius?"_

" _He's all right, and Gaius stayed behind of his own free will. He believes that is the best way to retain his position. Yours as well, I believe."_

Merlin grimaced. His eyes glinted golden in the faint light of the nearest (but still relatively far away) light. After several moments of silence, a smile broke out across the warlock's face. " _I just talked with him. He's fine._ "

Arthur and Alator nodded. The prince strained his ears. Hearing nothing, he decided to risk it. "Can you get us out of here?"

The warlock chewed his lip, considering. " _Binding Sigan to flesh took a lot out of me. I can sneak us invisibly to Kilgharrah's old cave, but then I'll need a few hours more sleep before I can get us back to Tintagel. I can try to send word to Morgana, though, ask her and Gwen to buy us time_."

Arthur nodded. Alator moved to gently shake his comrade awake.

Fortunately, the search was already dying down—or, more accurately, moving outside the castle into the surrounding city. They didn't encounter any guards on their way down to the dragon's old lair, where Merlin almost immediately collapsed against the wall.

"Are you all right, Lord Embries?"

"Not a lord," he muttered sulkily, "and yes, I'm fine. Just tired, but… Arthur, can you hand me Beothaich? Thanks." He forced himself to a sitting position, still gray-faced but looking a bit better, the staff across his lap. "Gods, that was a difficult spell."

"I am amazed that you were able to perform it," Alator admitted. He looked sincere, not like a flattering courtier, and Arthur found himself wondering just _how_ difficult that spell actually had been. He almost asked, then decided that no, he'd really rather not know how close they'd come to the absolute destruction of Camelot.

"Alator and I can stay here for the rest of the night," the other Catha said solemnly. "I think, that if we pool our power with what remains of yours, we could return you and the king to Tintagel."

Arthur frowned. He was a prince still, not a king, and normally he would have pointed that out. He wasn't quite certain what stopped him. Perhaps it was his own tiredness; perhaps it was the pure exhaustion on Merlin's face. Or maybe he just knew better than to remind them of his father's current status.

It occurred to Arthur quite suddenly that Alator and his men were more than capable of assassinating Uther, of making him king for real. Yet something—someone—prevented them from doing so.

The prince suppressed a snort. Sure, Merlin, you're not magical royalty at all.

….gods, Merlin was magical _royalty_. How was this his life?

"But then you won't have anything left if the guards find you," Merlin pointed out. "I think… Arthur, there's still a couple of hours until dawn. I can take a nap, recover, and then I'll hopefully have enough energy to transport us both back."

Alator and his man (now that they weren't in danger of being overheard, Arthur should really ask for the fellow's name) exchanged dubious glances. Merlin glared at them. "I replenish quickly, especially with Beothaich around. I'll be fairly useless for half a day, probably, but we'll be safe in Tintagel."

"Unless Sigan decides to attack while you're vulnerable," Arthur interjected.

Merlin blinked. "Oh. Right. Sigan. I was talking about the guards, but that's… actually a good point. Um." He looked back at the Catha. "Was he injured when he escaped?"

Alator nodded.

"Badly enough that he'll be out of commission for awhile, too?"

"I believe so, yes. But, my lord—" Merlin winced at the title "—let us lend you our power. We are in much less danger here, where no one knows we are, than you and the king in Tintagel."

Merlin hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me."

* * *

It had been quite some time since Gaius was this nervous when alone in Uther's presence. If Merlin was with him and the king, yes, he worried. There was always a chance that his ward would do something ridiculously magical, or that Uther would suddenly recognize Balinor in the youth's face, or that the illusion spell would disappear and Merlin's eyes would revert to their natural gold. He knew that these fears were (mostly) irrational, but had never been able to completely silence them.

Now, though, he was afraid for himself. Uther had never been a merciful man, and Gaius had just confessed to poisoning him. It was for the best of reasons, of course, but it was still poison.

Uther was silent for a long moment. Finally he let out a breath. "I never thought that I would have to thank someone for poisoning me."

The tension drained from Gaius's shoulders.

Donald, the captain of the guard, opened his mouth as if to protest. He was there to hear Gaius's statement about his interactions with Sigan and had probably not expected 'I realized Uther was possessed and gave him terrible indigestion' as the reason for the physician's predicament.

"I wish I knew how the false Emrys and his comrades found out that I was possessed," Gaius said, feeling that the silence was stretching out too long.

"Perhaps they were watching you," Donald suggested. "You have a… certain reputation… among their kind."

A light flickered in Uther's eyes. "Perhaps…." He turned that gaze on Gaius, looking speculative. Gaius made a mental note to watch out for guardsmen following him and to make all his magic-related communications in thought-speech. He'd have to warn Merlin, too.

The debriefing ended soon after that, and Gaius began the journey back to his quarters. He couldn't quite believe that his spur-of-the-moment decision to stay behind had turned out so well. Was Uther seriously not suspicious at all? Donald was, he thought, but the captain of the guard would have to tread carefully.

No wonder Merlin was so brazen when it was surprisingly, frighteningly easy to get away with things in Camelot.

Then he was home, and exhaustion took over. Gaius closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

Cornelius Sigan stood in the tomb of the Knights of Medhir. It was ancient, covered in cobwebs and dust, the stone cracked, the warnings on the wall faded. It was ancient, yet it was younger than him. The Knights had been men of Camelot, born and bred in his citadel, before they were turned. So many things had changed; sometimes he could hardly recognize the world around him.

That was good. It made the destruction of his life's work—of Bruta's life's work, he reminded himself, domain of Bruta's murdering heirs—much easier, and not just because the citadel's wards were faded.

But not now. For now, he had to think, and plan, and make his decisions.

Merlin Caledonensis was Emrys. There was no doubt of this in his mind. No one else could have used an untried, purely theoretical spell to force him into his body, especially not within such a short timeframe. The boy radiated power. Of course Cornelius had wanted that for himself.

Now, though….

He did not want to kill Merlin. It wasn't because he was Emrys; if anything, that was a reason to not let him live, now that Cornelius had no chance of claiming that power for himself. The boy was dangerous.

But.

The old physician knew more about Merlin than even he had realized. Gaius might not have realized the significance of the story his ward had told him once, but Cornelius did.

Perhaps, the mage thought, perhaps he could be persuaded. It was Emrys's destiny to build Albion; he did not dispute that. But why not build that great nation on the ruins of a lesser kingdom? Destroy Camelot, destroy Bruta's heirs, and found a new dynasty. Why should that kinslayer's grandson rule? Literally anyone else had to be a better candidate.

Surely Merlin would see.

Cornelius nodded to himself. Yes. He would make it so.

One way or another, he would make his grandson see sense.

* * *

I am so, so sorry for not getting this up on time. The internet freaking broke on me, and this is the first time I've been online since Thursday. (I had work.)

Next: July 6. Merlin learns him some things.

Spell: "Spirit from flesh to flesh from spirit, arise. Heart and blood, bone and marrow, arise. Breath of life, arise! Cornelius Sigan, you are bound to blood and bone and breath of life. Arise!"

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which Arthur Admits (if only to Himself) that Merlin may or may not be a Criminal Genius"_


	22. The Raven's Rise

Chapter XXII: The Raven's Rise

The citadel was in a state of controlled frenzy. Guards searched every house, knowing that there was little chance they'd find Sigan or Emrys (or the Catha) but duty-bound try. Tensions were high everywhere. Not only were the people of Camelot quite sick of having their homes raided, they'd heard plenty of rumors about what was going on in the castle: Uther's possession, the war with Odin, and Emrys's possible injury, which gossip had exaggerated to him being on the brink of death.

Gaius was tired and tense, but he didn't get the opportunity for much sleep after his interrogation. First a trickle, then a flood of townsfolk visited his chambers for a series of increasingly minor maladies. Really, they just wanted to hear what had happened between Emrys and Sigan.

At least Gaius was getting a lot of practice with telling his cover story.

As the day went on, though, the physician noticed something that made him tentatively hopeful: although they tried to hide it, many if not most people seemed concerned _for_ Emrys. Perhaps they just saw him as a lesser evil than Cornelius Sigan, but Gaius couldn't help wondering if there was something else to it. Merlin's whisper campaign of word and deed had been going along very well, and the people of Camelot knew that Emrys had skirmished with Sigan before. They also knew that he'd fought a wraith in Arthur Pendragon's place. In other words, they knew that he had a history of protecting them and their prince.

Again, it was entirely possible that the people of Camelot just wanted Emrys's protection against Sigan. But, Gaius reflected, they saw Emrys as their protector. They trusted him—perhaps only a little, but given time and nurturing, that trust could grow.

If Merlin were to defeat Sigan—if it was commonly known that Emrys had beaten Cornelius Sigan to protect Camelot….

His ward wasn't fighting Sigan for the prestige or fame. Gaius knew that. He was protecting his home and his friends, not looking for acclaim. Still, he very much doubted that Merlin would protest the good he was doing for magic's reputation. Also, it would help immensely when he had to reveal his true identity to the world.

With a start, Gaius realized that he, too, was taking something for granted: that Merlin would one day reveal himself to the people of Camelot. What's more, it… wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

At some point, he had come to believe—to well and truly _believe_ —that Merlin could do it. That he could end the Purge, bring magic back to the land, even build Albion with his Once and Future King.

Arthur.

At the thought of the prince, Gaius's expression grew more somber. (His current patient took that as an assessment of her current state and began to wonder if something really _was_ wrong with her.) Arthur had been with Merlin last night—the real Arthur, not just Merlin wearing his face. What's more, Arthur had been wearing Merlin's true face, not his Emrys disguise. There was only one possible explanation, and Gaius didn't like it one bit.

What in the world had Merlin been thinking, telling his secret to the Crown Prince of Camelot?

Except, Gaius reminded himself, he didn't know the exact circumstances of Arthur finding out. They had probably been in some improbable, deadly situation that required Merlin to use a magic that even someone as oblivious as Arthur couldn't help but notice. After a shock like that, it wasn't too much of a stretch to realize that Merlin had to be Emrys.

At least Arthur seemed to be taking it well. Gaius and the prince obviously hadn't had much time to interact, but Arthur had been willing to work with his magical manservant rather than throw him in the dungeons and/or never speak to him again.

Or maybe, suggested his more pessimistic side, Arthur simply didn't know enough about Merlin's activities to put him past the breaking point. Merlin had many secrets other than his magic: his dragonlord heritage, his status in the magical community, Morgana and Gwen's involvement, how he'd smuggled Kilgharrah and half the weapons vault—

Gaius froze, his blood running cold.

His patient, assuming that the physician's sudden horrified expression was because of her, made a frightened little squeaking noise. "Am I dying?" she demanded, eyes wide.

"What? No, of course not. You're perfectly fine," Gaius assured her. When she continued to look dubious, he improvised, "It was just a stray thought about—the potential war with Odin. As I said, you're perfectly healthy. Now go spread the word that Emrys is probably fine and we don't have to worry about Sigan."

"Just the war," she quipped.

Gaius nodded and shoed her out as quickly as he could. Another patient tried to enter, but the physician shut the door in his face. He locked it, then hurried into Merlin's room.

He'd had the door closed all morning, and he'd been so distracted by his gossipy patients that he wouldn't have heard anything. Or maybe, hopefully, he hadn't heard anything because there was nothing to hear.

Dropping to his knees, the physician pushed aside the loose floorboard. He'd once despaired at Merlin's tendency to hide important things in such an obvious location, but the place was actually a very good hiding spot. It was easy to access, hard to find unless you knew where to look, and (at Gaius's insistence) enchanted to look completely non-suspicious.

With shaking hands, he sorted through the carefully concealed objects. Spellbook, cloak, a letter from Balinor and Hunith….

He must have missed it, Gaius told himself. But when he went through the stash again, he couldn't find it.

The Raven's Key was gone.

* * *

They left Tintagel shortly after noon. Merlin knew why, of course. They'd been gone from Camelot far too long, and now that Sigan knew where they were, it was more important than ever to get away. If he couldn't possess Merlin, he'd probably try to kill him.

Still, Merlin couldn't help but wish that they'd stayed a little longer. He was still exhausted from a night of little sleep and lots of magic. Arthur, who'd had less sleep but also less magic, wasn't faring any better, though he seemed to be better at hiding it.

As long as he didn't fall asleep on his horse, Merlin decided, he would be fine.

The day dragged on. Merlin didn't fall asleep on his horse, but it was a near miss a few times. It was all he could do to help set up camp that night, and he lost consciousness almost as soon as he lay down.

Then he was standing in the council chamber of Camelot's castle. It was lit by torches that burned with unwavering light and empty save for a dark-haired man in a raven-feather cloak.

Merlin gave a very undignified yelp and jerked away.

Cornelius Sigan held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Peace, Merlin. You have nothing to fear from me."

The younger warlock's heart began to still as he realized what was going on. He'd heard of dream-walking, but he'd never tried to do it or received a message in his sleep. It was one of those things he wanted to learn eventually but didn't have time for quite yet.

If Sigan had gone through the trouble of contacting him in his sleep, then the older warlock probably wasn't going to attack quite yet. ( _Could_ you attack people through dream-walking? Merlin couldn't remember. That suddenly seemed a lot more relevant now.)

"…What did you want to talk about?" Merlin finally asked. He remembered Nimueh and scowled. "I'm not going to join you."

Sigan's gaze darkened. "Why not?"

"Because Arthur Pendragon is my Once and Future King. We're going to build a great nation together. You, though, you just want to tear things down."

The older warlock snorted. "Do you really think that Albion will just spontaneously take shape? No. Take it from someone who has built a kingdom: nations are born from conquest. The traitor and I destroyed a half-dozen petty chieftainships to create Camelot. Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin."

Merlin stiffened at the phrase, but he had to press on. "Maybe, but it still seems like a dumb idea to completely obliterate my home."

"Homes can be replaced. You can create something better than that den of corruption, find someone better than a traitor's spawn to rule over Albion."

"Like you?" Merlin asked sharply.

"Or you," Sigan replied, not quite denying it. "Spellbinders of every land already see you as their ruler."

He shuddered. "No thanks. I'm not going to destroy a city and uproot thousands of people just because you can't let go of your grudge against a dead man."

Rage flitted across the older warlock's face, rage that was quickly forced behind a mask of false civility. "Do you know why I want Bruta's legacy destroyed, Merlin?"

"Because you're angry that he killed you?"

"That did not help his case," Sigan admitted, "but his betrayal began long before that."

"…What did he do?" Merlin asked slowly. He knew that Sigan was guiding the conversation, that he wanted to be asked, but knowledge was power. If Merlin knew, he… probably wouldn't be able to reason with him, but it might reveal some kind of weakness. Maybe.

Triumph gleamed in Sigan's dark eyes, triumph and ancient fury. "He sent an assassin after my pregnant daughter and her family."

Merlin's jaw sagged. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. "Your _daughter_?"

"My daughter, yes," the older man confirmed. "I married a princess—if you could call her that—from one of the small kingdoms that Bruta and I conquered. She was assassinated shortly after our daughter's birth, so I sent the babe to live with some distant cousins of mine. Court was too dangerous, you see. Eventually she wed a bastard of unknown parentage, a man with the blood of dragons in his veins. Brynden, his name was, and she was called Ganieda. I believe you know the rest of the story, grandson."

Merlin gaped. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. Part of him wondered (rather hysterically) if this was how Arthur had felt when he told him about his magic. The rest of his mind, though, spluttered around frantically, searching for a way that this couldn't be true.

"But—Ganieda had sisters. Kilgharrah—"

"Cousins, really, but they grew up together. She called them her sisters."

"Kilgharrah said that Brynden was a farmer."

"He was. Bruta had promised a keep to him and Ganieda, but something kept delaying him. Perhaps he already suspected that Brynden was his father's son. Until the keep was prepared and warded, though, they preferred the safety of anonymity." His face twisted into a scowl. "Conveniently, this made it much easier for the traitor to arrange their deaths."

Merlin tried to think of another objection but came up short. And now that Sigan had a face of his own, he could see that they actually looked a bit similar. It wasn't a strong resemblance, but they might have the same eyebrows.

Gods. First a dragonlord, then a king's brother, _then_ a pair of renegade Sidhe, now Cornelius bloody Sigan and his princess wife who no one even knew existed. Did he have any _normal_ relatives?

"And that is why the traitor's heir must die," Sigan growled. His fists were clenched, a muscle jumping in his neck. "That is why their kingdom must turn to dust. Bruta betrayed our family and had his own brother assassinated. I was as close as to him as his own shadow, yet he tried to have my daughter and grandson, your ancestors, killed. His spawn will betray you, too."

"No. He won't." Merlin shook his head. "I'm sorry that Bruta betrayed you, but he's dead. He's been dead for centuries. If—"

"His legacy remains," Sigan interjected. "His legacy and his blood."

"And _your_ legacy," Merlin retorted, "and… and your blood as well. Probably. Unless you're lying to make me join you, which won't work."

"Oh, you'll join me, grandson," the elder warlock replied. Something about his smile made the hairs on Merlin's neck stand up. "One way or another, you will join me."

Suddenly the younger spellbinder was very aware that he had no idea how to get out of this dream or what Sigan could do to him here. Sweat broke out across his brow, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "Or maybe you could join me. Build Albion as you once built Camelot, but without being betrayed by your king."

"I served a Pendragon once, and he had me executed for demanding justice. I will not serve another."

"Then don't serve. Walk away. Learn more magic, find out what happened to your other descendants. Visit the Orkneys or Rome or Constantinople. You have a second chance at life. Don't waste it on someone whose bones are dust."

"Vengeance is not a waste," Sigan said. "If you had ever been betrayed, you would know this. But I see you've inherited my Ganieda's stubbornness and Brynden's willingness to see the best in people. Very well, then. I'll just have to take more drastic measures."

The dream faded into darkness.

* * *

Morgana had spent the day under a cloud of foreboding. She'd tried to tell herself that it was simple nervousness, that she was just on edge from knowing that Sigan knew where they were and who Merlin really was, but she couldn't quite convince herself. Something was wrong, or would be wrong, and Merlin and Arthur were too exhausted to face it.

She spent half the afternoon reviewing her meager repertoire of spells. Merlin hadn't been able to teach her much, but she could unlock locks and conjure shields and make objects float. She lacked finesse with all those abilities, especially the last, but it was something, at least.

Now it was night and she couldn't sleep. She should be able to—they'd ridden hard to make up for lost time—but she couldn't. The sense of foreboding was too great.

With a heavy sigh, the witch gave up. She crept out of her bedroll and made her way to the fire. Sir Leon sat by it, his back to the flames so as to better keep watch. The knight gave her a sympathetic smile. "Can't sleep?"

"No," Morgana admitted. "I just… have a bad feeling about tonight."

Leon frowned. "Do you think we should double the guard? I've already been considering that, honestly. Those bandits we encountered last week can't be the only ones in the area."

Of course he assumed she was anxious about bandits. Still, Morgana didn't discourage the belief. "I don't know."

"We have enough people for it, assuming we can get that Gwaine fellow to pitch in," Leon speculated.

They glanced over at the sleeping vagabond. None of them were quite certain why Gwaine had decided to come with them. Honestly, Gwaine probably didn't know why he'd decided to come with him. He had no plans of becoming a guard or working for Uther. Maybe he just wanted to see Camelot, or maybe he liked their company more than he cared to admit. The point was that he had joined them but was outside the official chain of command—not that he would listen to commands, Morgana thought. He didn't seem like a particularly obedient person.

Once Merlin had enough time to get to know him better, they'd probably get along famously.

"Do you think you can convince him?" Morgana asked doubtfully. "He—"

Merlin jerked in his sleep, his body completely rigid for a moment before going totally limp.

Morgana was on her feet before she knew it. The dread was stronger than ever.

"It's just Merlin," Leon tried to reassure her. "He's probably just having a bad dream."

"Nightmares are terrible," Morgana told him, a bit more sharply than she'd intended. She strode over to her friend, leaned over to shake him. "Merlin, wake up."

Nothing. The warlock was as limp as a doll.

Morgana shook him harder. "Merlin."

"Let him sleep, Morgana," Leon advised. "I think his insomnia's been acting up again."

A sudden gust rattled the leaves around them. The wind drifted down in a tight spiral, sucking up dust and mulch at its base.

"Spellbinder!" Leon yelled, drawing his sword and stepping between Morgana and the rapidly solidifying whirlwind.

Merlin was the only traveler still asleep. He just wouldn't wake, no matter how Morgana shook him. She shouted directly into his mind, but he gave no response. He was bespelled somehow, he had to be.

And then Morgana was flying away from him as though plucked up by an enormous unseen hand. She somehow flipped around midflight so that her back rather than her front collided with a nearby tree, but it was a near thing. All around her, the guards (and Gwaine and Gwen) found themselves in similar predicaments.

Cornelius Sigan—who else could it be?—was a man of ordinary height, his dark hair and close-cropped beard streaked with gray. He was dressed in black from head to foot; the only color on him was the iridescent gleaming of his raven-feather cloak in the firelight. He ignored almost everyone, staring down at Merlin with a predatory smile.

Could she levitate something? A sword, maybe. Excalibur. Where was Excalibur?

"Who the hell are you?" Gwaine demanded.

"I am Cornelius Sigan," the mage replied simply, almost absently. He stepped towards Merlin.

"Leave him alone," Arthur snarled. He kicked at the tree like he was trying to propel himself forward.

She couldn't see Excalibur. Maybe Merlin could move things without looking at them, but Morgana couldn't. She silently cursed the spells of concealment Merlin had placed on the sword. Maybe Beothaich—no, that would have the same enchantments, and she had no idea how to use it.

For the first time, Sigan looked away from his target. A sardonic smile curved his lips. "I think not, Arthur Pendragon. You see, Merlin Emrys here—" The prince jerked, Gwen and the guards gasped, Morgana went deathly white—"is being stubborn. Fortunately, there are rituals that can change even the most reticent minds."

With a chill, Morgana remembered Morgause's ideas about mind control. All thoughts of Excalibur and Beothaich halted.

"Emrys? Him?" Arthur forced a laugh. "You must be joking."

"I'm not, as you very well know." He scooped the limp, definitely enchanted warlock into his arms. "He is Emrys, and though he has rendered me incapable of possessing him, his power will still be mine. _Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard_!"

The pressure keeping Morgana against the tree disappeared. She fell, staggering to catch her balance. The wind whipped through her hair, blowing a few stray locks into her eyes.

When she could see again, Merlin and Sigan were gone.

* * *

Friends, you have my permission to panic.

There was a little bit of confusion last chapter about how exactly Sigan and Merlin are related. Ganieda and Balor are some of Balinor's distant ancestors. I have no idea how many generations passed between them and him. Let's just assume that there's a lot of 'greats' and that Sigan thinks of Merlin as his grandson because it's shorter than 'great-to-an-unknown-power-grandson-of-my-actual-grandson.'

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which Crap Hits the Fan and Cornelius Sigan is a Terrible Great-to-the-Somethingth-Grandpa"_

Next chapter: July 27. As everyone reacts to Merlin's kidnapping, one of his friends takes drastic measures to rescue him.

I'm slowly moving some of my works over to AO3. There's about 3 chapters of _The Warlock's Quickening_ up there.


	23. Messages

Chapter XXIII: Messages

The important thing, Gwen thought, was that they shouldn't panic. Couldn't panic. Just because Merlin the ridiculously powerful spellbinder had been exposed to several members of the guard and kidnapped by someone who was apparently going to use magical mind control on him, thereby turning him into a weapon that would destroy his former friends, was no reason to panic. So. She wouldn't panic.

Except everyone else seemed to disagree. Morgana was white-faced and shaking. Arthur was in a shouting match with the guards, who had apparently been ordered by Captain Donald to keep an eye on him in case he'd been 'compromised' by Emrys's mind control. It would seem that discovering Emrys had been working as Arthur's manservant for the past year counted as evidence of being compromised.

Gwen had no idea what to do, but she had to do something. Desperate, she raised her hands to her mouth and whistled.

The sharp noise pierced the soldiers' argument with Arthur, cut through Morgana's shock. Everyone turned to stare at her.

Oh gods. They were staring at her and she still had no idea what to do. She was going to make a fool of herself, she was going to make everything worse, she really had to say something.

What she said was, "How are we going to rescue Merlin?"

" _Thank_ you, Guinevere," exclaimed Arthur, taking advantage of the lull in conversation to regain control. "As I was saying, Sigan admitted to taking Merlin to take over his mind. That can have one of two results. If he really is Emrys, we'll probably all die because the only spellbinder willing to stand against Sigan is now on his side. If Merlin is just Merlin, Sigan can still mine him for information or use him as an assassin or something. Either way, we should focus on _thwarting the plans of the evil warlock who has repeatedly tried to destroy our_ _home_ instead of quibbling about whether I'm enchanted or not. I'm not, by the way."

"Is he that Emrys guy?" Gwaine asked. When everyone turned to stare at him, he shrugged and continued, "What? He's friends with a lot of you. Someone probably knows."

"…I think he might be." To Gwen's surprise, that came from Leon. The knight's brow was furrowed in thought, a line appearing between his eyes. "It would… actually make a great of sense."

"How?" asked Arthur, genuinely incredulous. Apparently he was still having trouble with the revelation that Merlin was magical. Gwen absolutely did not blame him; she still thought it strange herself. Maybe Morgana had adjusted, though.

"Just some of his behaviors, is all," Leon murmured. His pensive frown deepened. If Gwen knew him, he would be lost in thought for quite some time.

"Well," Arthur snapped, "Emrys or not, we still shouldn't leave him in Cornelius Sigan's clutches."

"If only to be put down," a guard muttered.

Morgana jerked, her fists clenching.

"How are we supposed to find them, though?" Elyan wondered. "It's night, and Sigan teleported them away."

"Is that in the knight's training manual?" Gwaine wondered. "How to track a teleporting sorcerer, I mean."

"No," Arthur growled. But his anger was fading into worry. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

Gwen certainly didn't. Merlin was the expert on magic, him and Gaius. She supposed that they could make for Camelot as quickly as possible to ask the old physician's advice, but who knew what Sigan could do to Merlin in that time?

But the thought of asking for advice, of getting help, that wasn't a bad idea. "Weren't there druids nearby?" she wondered out loud.

"Help from sorcerers?" sneered a guard, the one who had suggested that Merlin be put down. Harris, his name was.

Gwen winced.

"Is she enchanted too?" another guard wondered, suddenly alarmed. "How many of us are enchanted?"

Thus began a frustrating and irrelevant argument about how to tell if someone was bespelled, a conversation that was frequently interrupted by Arthur's vain attempts at getting people to focus on the real problem, please, before the evil spellbinder destroys our home.

" _Gwen_."

The maid jumped. She hadn't expected thought-speech.

" _I'm going to take a quick walk, see if I can make contact with those druids. Can you cover for me_?"

Gwen smiled and gave the faintest of nods before diving into the argument in support of Arthur's position.

Morgana slipped away.

* * *

"What do I do?" Morgana demanded.

Her dream guide looked at her complacently. "You're the seer. You tell me."

The witch wanted to tear out her hair in frustration. "I don't know! I've tried finding the druids, but I can't. That's all I can think of. I don't know enough about magic to find Sigan, much less fight him. _I need help_!"

"Then find help," her useless guide advised placidly, and vanished.

Here in the dream world, there was no need to be strong. Morgana collapsed to her knees and let herself sob, her tears watering the road beneath her.

It felt good to let out her grief and fear, but she knew full well, when her tears dried up, that she had to keep thinking. She had to find another way.

Morgana pushed herself to her feet, brushed the hair from her reddened face.

The first thing she saw was an enormous shadowy tower in the distance. It was as long and thin as a demon's claw, as black as the void between the stars. Even looking at it made her shudder in her bones.

It hadn't been there before. Admittedly, it had been a couple days since she'd come to this strange dream world, but she would have remembered that accursed thing.

Maybe it was Sigan's headquarters? It certainly looked like an evil warlock's home in the tales she'd heard as a child, and Sigan was… flamboyantly evil. The man wore a cloak of raven's feathers, for the love of all that was good and holy. She could definitely imagine him setting up shop in a place like that.

Unfortunately, she had no idea where it might be and no idea where she could find out. Gaius might know, yes, but they were still days away from Camelot and she had no idea how quickly Sigan's mind control would work. Merlin was stubborn and powerful, and she had no doubt that he'd fight the other mage every step of the way. But Sigan was powerful too, and stubborn enough to come back from the dead to fulfill his vendetta.

If only she knew more about mind control. It wasn't something she'd ever wished before, but—

Morgana froze, ice running down her spine. She had an idea now, a terrible idea that made more sense as she kept thinking about it.

The dark tower in the distance wasn't the only feature of her dreamscape. There was a road beneath her feet, a road that had forked into two paths some distance back. A figure stood at the end of each way: on Morgana's path, King Arthur Pendragon. On the other side….

Morgause.

Her half-sister, probably. A high priestess of the Old Religion, successor to Nimueh of Armorica. Morgause knew about mind control. She had to—she'd suggested using it against royalty in every kingdom. More than that, she _had_ to know how to scry people.

Morgause could find Merlin, maybe even rescue him… and there was a representation of the sorceress in Morgana's dreams.

Morgana had no idea if what she was considering was even possible, much less practical. It wasn't like she and Morgause had parted on the best of terms. But… Merlin had told her that a lot of magic was making the universe see things your way.

This would work, the witch told herself as she approached her possible half-sister's effigy. This had to work, and so it _would_.

She wished she knew anything about spell creation, or even just more of the Old Tongue. Incantations were easier.

Her hands shook as she stretched out her arms to wrap her fingers around Morgause's wrists.

"I need to talk to you," Morgana said, trying as hard as she could to imbue the words with magic, with intent, with necessity.

Nothing happened. The image of Morgause remained static and unmoving.

Morgana's finger's spasmed. "I need to talk to you," she repeated.

Nothing.

Okay. She could do this. She could _do_ this. Morgana closed her eyes, thinking back to her first magic lesson with Merlin. She'd been angry and frustrated and determined, and it had worked.

Morgana opened her eyes. "Morgause," she said, her voice steady. "I need to talk to you." A deep breath, inhale and exhale. "We're going to talk now."

Morgause blinked. It was the first time Morgana had ever seen the vision's face move. Sure enough, the sorceress looked down at their entwined hands in confusion before lifting her gaze to Morgana's face. Her eyes widened to almost comical proportions.

Morgana didn't give her time to ask any questions. "Emrys has been captured by Cornelius Sigan," she stated in a rush. "Sigan said that he's going to use some kind of mind control to make Emrys his willing crony. Is there anything you can do to help?"

To her credit, Morgause took only a few moments to assimilate this information. "I can try, but Sigan probably used anti-scrying wards." She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Was he unable to possess Emrys?"

That was right, of course she wouldn't know. "It's a long story, but Emrys managed to force him into physical form. He can't possess him."

"Good," muttered Morgause. She frowned, lifting a hand to her chin in thought. "In order to track him, we'll need to quest for the seven—"

"Actually," Morgana interrupted, "I think Sigan has taken him there." She pointed at the demonic silhouette of the tower.

Morgause's face went completely ashen the moment she laid eyes on the building. "The Dark Tower," she breathed.

"I've never heard of it," Morgana replied. "Why is it so bad?"

Morgause actually shuddered. "The Dark Tower is a place of fell magics and horrible tortures. It drives its inhabitants to madness, allowing their captors to reshape their minds according to their whims." She met her fellow spellbinder's gaze. "We need to get Emrys out of there."

"Torture?" Morgana breathed, horrified.

"Yes." Morgause's expression might have been carved from white stone. "Not physical tortures, but attacks directly on its victims' minds. It gives hellish visions: your entire family dead, your loved ones spitting horrible things to you, your worst fears come to life. It breaks everyone who's in it long enough. Tell me, is Emrys strong?"

"Of course."

"I meant mentally. Is he strong-willed and determined?"

Despite the seriousness of their situation, Morgana's lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. "More than anyone I've ever met."

"Good. Then he'll be able to hold out long enough for me to mount a rescue."

"But—" Morgana's protest died in her throat. She might be good with the sword, but Cornelius Sigan wouldn't be defeated by anything less than powerful magic. She knew from repeated firsthand experience that he could just pick her up and pin her against a wall, leaving her utterly helpless. Well, maybe not completely helpless if she managed to move something and knock him out, but what were the odds of that?

"Don't go alone," she finally said. "After Emrys forced him into physical form, he fought… I don't know how many Catha, but he several of them and then escaped." The witch bit her lip, wondering how much to reveal. She had an idea of whom Morgause could ask for help, but she had no idea how well it would go over with them. "Ask Balinor Caledonensis, the dragonlord on the Isle of the Blessed. He has access to a literal dragon and can probably get ahold of Alator of the Catha." Not to mention he was Merlin's father.

Morgause nodded slowly. "A dragonlord _would_ help with the wyverns."

"Wyverns?" Morgana parroted.

"The Dark Tower is located in the Perilous Lands. It's very difficult to access, particularly because spellbinders can't teleport there."

"So it will be hard for Sigan, too," Morgana realized, suddenly hopeful. "He's carting an unconscious prisoner across hostile, unfamiliar territory. Maybe they aren't even there yet."

"I hope so," Morgause muttered. She glanced up at the Dark Tower, then at the woman she claimed was her sister. "I need to leave now, Morgana."

Morgana hesitated, but there was one last thing she had to say. "Arthur knows."

"What?"

"He knows who Emrys is," Morgana clarified. "He knows, and he accepts him. The second he takes the throne, he's going to bring magic back. No mind control required."

A slight widening of Morgause's eyes was the only indication of her surprise. "We'll see," she muttered. "But I really am leaving now, sister. I must go to the Isle of the Blessed."

The witch nodded. "Good luck."

* * *

Balinor had been this frightened only a few times in his life. His father's death. The Twin Genocide. Learning that Uther's men were in Ealdor. His lover and son fighting Kanen's men with practically no armor, no protection, and Merlin unable to use his magic openly to defend himself. But each time, it was like snowmelt replaced the blood in his veins, leaving him cold and numb and shaking.

Hunith's hand squeezed his so hard it hurt. "We have to save him," she declared, the faintest of quivers in her voice.

"We? Hunith, you're pregnant. Kilgharrah and I can take care of this."

"And me," interjected Morgause, who was following behind them.

"Why?" Hunith demanded. "I remember you from the summit; you're the one who kept opposing his plans."

A light blush dusted Morgause's cheeks. "I might disagree with his methods, but that doesn't mean I want the most powerful spellbinder in human history to be enslaved to a known lunatic! Sigan won't just stop at killing the Butcher, he'll use Emrys's magic to destroy anyone who opposes him. I swear it by the Triple Goddess: I will do everything in my power to keep Emrys from that madman's control."

Hunith stared at the sorceress with narrowed eyes for a long moment, then jerked her head in a nod. "I'll hold you to that promise, priestess."

"I don't doubt you will, lady."

By this point, they had gotten outside. Balinor flung back his head and roared, pouring his urgency and fear and near-desperation into his voice. Kilgharrah would hear it and hurry.

"Are you going to get Alator like Morgana suggested?" Hunith asked him—well, asked them, he supposed.

"There's no time," Balinor replied. "Sigan must have brought them to the Impenetrable Forest, but we have no way of knowing where and Kilgharrah is too big to—where are you going?"

"Seeing if I can find more reinforcements," his wife called over her shoulder.

"Kilgharrah can't carry too many people."

"Then you'll just have to select the best ones!" She disappeared behind a corner, leaving Balinor alone with Morgause.

There were several moments of awkward silence.

"What do you know about the Dark Tower?" Balinor finally asked.

"It's surrounded by the Impenetrable Forest, which is ruled by Queen Mab. The tower itself was created by one of my predecessors when she tried to carve her own kingdom out of Listeneise. Legend has it that she intended to use it on the Fisher King but fell to rampaging wyverns before she could reach him."

"If it was founded by a priestess—"

"I know how to use it," Morgause said flatly, "and how to reverse its effects, but our best chance is to catch Sigan before he reaches it."

"We'll have to head him off at the tower," Balinor realized.

"That might be a problem," Morgause admitted.

"Why?"

"The dragon, Kilgharrah. I know he would prove invaluable in a fight, but he isn't exactly inconspicuous. If Sigan sees him, he might very well decide to flee elsewhere."

Balinor grinned in relief. "Don't worry about it," he advised her. "Haven't you ever wondered why there have been no sightings of an enormous golden dragon? He was freed over a year ago, but no one saw him once."

Morgause nodded slowly. "So dragons have ways to remain hidden. Is his camouflage strong enough to hold up at such close quarters?"

"It is," the dragonlord confirmed, "especially since Sigan has no reason to realize that we're going to be there too. He doesn't know about Morgana's vision or that she managed to get in touch with you. He still thinks he can get—Emrys to the Dark Tower without anybody knowing enough to stop him."

The priestess's smile was downright wolfish. "Then we can kill him before he knows we're there."

Balinor's lips quirked up before a stray thought made him frown. "What if that just returns him to his former state and he possesses Emrys?"

"…Would the dragon know if that's possible?"

"Possibly. Sigan created an entirely new magic with his immortality. Kilgharrah knows many things, but he might not know this."

The sound of footsteps clattering on stone made them both turn. A young man ran up to them. Between rasping panting breaths, he choked out, "You're the ones who are going to save Emrys, right?"

"We are."

"I'm Gilli," he told them. "You?"

"Morgause."

"Balinor Caledonensis."

Gilli's eyes widened; apparently Hunith hadn't told him just whom he would be accompanying. "I didn't recognize you in the dark," he explained apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," Balinor advised. There was a time and a place for deference (something his son had yet to learn), but he'd never seen the point in demanding strict protocol at every moment of the day. "I take it you're a spellbinder?"

"And a swordsman," Gilli answered, patting the sheath at his hip. His panting was finally beginning to lessen; he must have sprinted to get his sword before coming to the courtyard. "I try to use both together."

"And you know what we're up against?"

"Cornelius Sigan," the warlock replied promptly. "Lady Hunith says that he's knocked Lord Emrys out with a sleep spell and is taking him off to a place called the Dark Tower to control his mind?"

"That sums it up," Balinor admitted dryly.

Gilli's hand tightened around his sword-hilt. "What's the plan, my lord, my lady?"

"You can call me by name," Balinor told him, glancing at Morgause in question. She nodded. "Her too. Sigan can't teleport to the Tower directly, so if we hurry, we can stop him from entering."

The younger warlock frowned. "Then we can't teleport either. How are we getting there?"

And Balinor wanted to laugh, because of _course_ this was the first moment he could sense Kilgharrah's presence. His old friend had always had a good sense of dramatic timing and, well, the dragonlord had a bit of a dramatic streak too. He lifted a hand to the sky, pointing at the rapidly approaching shadow against the stars. "He'll be helping us."

Gilli turned, paled, gaped as the dragon began his descent. Soon Kilgharrah was in the courtyard, wings folded elegantly, brow furrowed in perplexity as he took in his soul-brother's companions. "Odd company you keep, Balinor," he observed.

"They're going to help us stop Cornelius Sigan from bringing Emrys to the Dark Tower," Balinor explained shortly.

Kilgharrah's eyes widened slightly. With suspicion, he asked, "Even you, priestess?"

"Even me," Morgause replied, meeting his gaze with her head high.

"…Very well then." Kilgharrah inclined his head ever so slightly, lowered his body to the ground. "Balinor, you can explain on the way."

The dragonlord was already halfway up his friend's back. "Thank you for doing this," he said. "I know you're not a horse."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," the dragon replied.

"Ay. That they do."

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which There is a Lot of Preparation but Not Much Action_ "

The things about Kilgharrah's camouflage and nobody being able to teleport to the Dark Tower are to explain why nobody in canon saw him and why evil!Morgana didn't just teleport Gwen there in The Season That Shall Not Be Mentioned.

Quick question: while Balinor and Kilgharrah have obviously interacted in fanfic, are there any fics where Gilli and/or Morgause interact with them (and/or each other, for that matter)? I... can't actually think of anything.

Next update: Fallout part two: This time, it's personal! Coming to computers near you on August 17.

-Antares


	24. At the Foot of the Tower

Chapter XXIV: At the Foot of the Tower

Darkness.

Darkness, stretching out all around him, infinite, eternal.

Darkness, and then the scent of salt. Waves lapping against his feet, the sound gentle in his ears.

A voice. A name.

"Emrys."

Emrys? That was his, his his his. That was his name.

"Emrys," the voice called again. Male, old, pained. "Help me…."

The water receded. He stood on soft moss, the scent of mulch filling his nostrils.

"Up is down and left is right," a woman's voice sang, "and east is west, and day is night. Wet is dry and dark is light, but tragic is the speaker's plight."

A wave soaked him. "…Corbenic…."

Sunlight lit up the leaves. "…suits me well," the female voice said. "No one tries to…."

A stab of pain. His legs collapsed beneath him.

"…not allow it, Mab. And you know the other prophecies. Don't you want…?"

A woman sat in front of him, her gaze sharp and wild and fey. "Hello, Emrys," she said simply. "We'd like to make a deal."

* * *

Arthur didn't know he'd fallen asleep until a hand on his shoulder shook him awake. It took the prince a few moments to remember why anxiety and unease curdled in his gut. Then the memories came back, and he jerked up like a hastily grabbed puppet.

"It's just me," Leon assured him. The knight spoke quietly, clearly trying to not wake anyone else. "I'm on watch duty for this hour."

"Weren't you on the first watch?" Arthur asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Leon smiled slightly before dipping into a frown. "I was, but after… what happened… Harris and I decided to trade shifts."

Arthur shrugged off his blanket, stood. "Any sign of Merlin?"

His knight's gaze softened. "No, none."

Arthur clenched his fists. He stared out into the forest, into the impenetrable blackness beyond the camp's firelight. If Sigan had carried Merlin off by normal means, he would take a torch and look for him. As it was… well, Morgana had told him through that odd thought-speech thing that she'd searched for the druids and hadn't found any, but maybe they—no, that was stupid, why would druids change location in the middle of the night? And even if they did, they certainly wouldn't go _closer_ to a party of knights and guards from Camelot.

Curse spellbinders and their stupid ability to teleport.

"That's what I'd like to talk to you about, actually."

Arthur blinked. He'd been lost in his own thoughts and had to backtrack to recollect what he and Leon had been discussing. "You changing shifts with Harris?"

"No." Leon met his gaze. "Merlin. How long you've known he was Emrys. Whether or not he's who I thought he was, and what you intend to do about magic."

There was something vulnerable in the knight's voice, something that made Arthur pause. Perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised; he'd known that Leon was fond of Merlin, of course, but not that the knight might not be entirely behind the ban on magic. A thought occurred to him. "Leon, are you…?"

"No," he replied—honestly, Arthur thought. Maybe it was someone else, someone that Leon (or even both of them) knew. "I'm a knight, and part of my job is to make sure you haven't been enchanted."

"You think that Merlin bespelled me?"

"…No, not really. But I need to be sure."

Arthur considered. Maybe he couldn't find Sigan. Maybe he couldn't do anything to help Merlin directly. But perhaps he could make another ally. At the very least, one more person who knew he wasn't enchanted would help him when the guards inevitably tattled to his father.

…actually, it probably wouldn't. But it might come in handy later on, and perhaps Leon would have an idea or two for countering Sigan. He had been head knight for a reason, after all.

And he had to admit that it would be nice to tell someone the truth, for once.

"The first time I sort of encountered Emrys was when I went on my quest for the mortaeus flower."

He couldn't tell Leon everything, of course. Morgana's magic and Guinevere's knowledge of both spellbinders' true nature weren't his secrets to share, and he was a bit fuzzy on some of the details himself. (Now that he thought of it, how _had_ Merlin conjured that first light in the Cave of Balor?) But it was a relief to tell somebody, especially someone as good at listening as Leon.

"As far as I can tell, he just wants magic to be legal again," Arthur finished up after several minutes of explaining.

An unexpected laugh made him and Leon jump. They turned to see Gwaine sitting up in his bedroll, with Elyan glaring at him from a few feet away. "He _just_ wants you to overturn your father's life's work. _Just_ that."

"How much of that did you hear?" Arthur demanded, ignoring rest of the vagabond's statement.

"All of it," Gwaine admitted. Elyan nodded reluctantly.

Arthur closed his eyes and counted to five. "Is anyone else awake?"

"Yes," called Guinevere. She at least had the decency to sound sheepish. Morgana, who called out an affirmative moments after her maidservant, only sounded amused.

"Don't look at me like that," Gwaine protested, correctly interpreting Arthur's expression. "I was curious. Is that why you went and got drunk?"

"…Yes."

"Yeah, I thought so. You kept rambling about 'stupid Merlin' with his stupid secrets and stupid lies and general stupidity. I spent half the night trying to figure out how a bird could lie to you before you let slip he was your manservant." The vagabond nodded sagely.

"Does this have a point?" Arthur growled.

Gwaine shrugged. "It seems to me that if he'd actually enchanted you, he wouldn't risk exposure by letting you get drunk at a public tavern."

Arthur blinked, surprised by how much sense that made.

"You have arguments, too," Leon noted. He grinned, teeth glinting in the firelight. "You wouldn't if he was controlling you."

"I thought you knew he wasn't?"

"I was almost positive, but, well, I didn't think he could be a warlock either."

"Neither did I," Arthur confessed. "Then I found out and, well, it almost makes sense that someone as irreverent as Merlin would turn out to be spearheading a secret—no, wait, it doesn't make sense. It will never made sense that _Merlin_ of all people is our best chance against Cornelius bloody Sigan."

"Assuming he isn't made into a mind-controlled slave bent on destroying us all," Gwaine pointed out.

"He won't be."

Everyone's gaze turned to Morgana, probably wondering what led her to speak so confidently. "Why not?" Guinevere inquired.

" _Because I found help_ ," she answered in Arthur's mind (and probably Guinevere's too, seeing as she was the one who had asked). Out loud, she explained, "Because he must have allies somewhere, and presumably they've noticed that their figurehead has been kidnapped."

Elyan did not look convinced. Guinevere, however, narrowed her eyes and asked, "Who specifically do you think might be going after him?"

Morgana's confident smile froze in place. She shrugged. "I, ah, don't know enough about the magical community to say." Silently, almost sheepishly, she added, " _I'll tell you in the morning_."

Somehow, Arthur had the distinct feeling that she hadn't gotten in touch with the druids.

* * *

"It's inactive," Kilgharrah observed as they touched down at the foot of the Dark Tower. "Good. Sigan has not arrived."

Balinor smiled tightly as he dismounted. Unless Sigan could fly, he'd have to go through the aptly-named Impenetrable Forest, at night, while hauling an unconscious captive (if he knew who Merlin was, then he knew how stubborn the boy could be and must realize how colossally stupid it would be to let him wake up. Ergo, Merlin was still comatose). "Any idea how far he is, Kilgharrah?"

The dragon stared into the forest, his eyes slivers of gold in the darkness. "No. I'll take to the air. You three, space yourselves evenly around the Tower."

Balinor didn't want to get close to the foul place. From the looks of it, neither did Gilli or Morgause. Nonetheless, they did as Kilgharrah suggested, splitting up to see as much of the plains as was possible in the dim light of the gibbous moon.

From now on, all they could do was wait.

The dragonlord took to pacing: four steps one way, four steps the other. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and he sent out telepathic queries to those around him every few minutes no matter how many times they assured him that they'd tell him the second they saw someone. Gilli tried to make conversation a couple times, commenting nervously on the bones he could see peeking through the darkness, but the others shut him down quickly enough.

They waited, gazing at the forest that surrounded the barren, dusty plain. The moon crept across the sky, stars circling around Polaris. Kilgharrah alighted on top of the tower, though how he could stand to touch the foul thing Balinor had no idea.

" _What's taking him so long_?" Morgause asked worriedly.

" _Maybe the seer who thought he was being taken here was wrong_ ," suggested Gilli.

Balinor couldn't see Morgause's scowl, but he heard it in her mental voice, could imagine it on her face. " _I doubt that. Perhaps he's having more trouble with the Impenetrable Forest than we thought."_

" _I wish he would just get through it_ ," Balinor grumbled. Despite his best efforts, he was beginning to get a bit sleepy. It wasn't enough to dull his reflexes, not yet, but it would be dangerous if it got worse.

He sped up his pacing.

The first fingers of dawn were stretching over the eastern horizon when Kilgharrah exclaimed, " _There! In the north._ "

Balinor, of course, was on the south. He practically sprinted around the Dark Tower, bypassing Gilli's more sedate prowl. Sure enough, there was a shadowy shape emerging from the trees. No, two shapes: one a man-sized silhouette walking on the ground, the other limp and floating at its side.

Merlin.

Balinor's blood boiled. His knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword. At his sides, Morgause and Gilli readied themselves to attack, to defend, to do whatever they needed to do.

It was easy to tell the exact moment that Sigan noticed them. He pulled up short. It was still too dark to see his face, but moonlight painted his raven-feather cloak in iridescent shimmers.

"This doesn't have to get violent," Balinor growled. Part of him—a large part—hoped that it would get violent, just so he had an excuse to hurt the man who had kidnapped his son. The rest of him was more practical. There were four of them, one of whom was a dragon, and one of him. If it came to a fight, they could probably win. But Sigan was powerful and cunning and probably had access to custom magic that no one else even knew existed.

And he had Merlin. Unconscious, enchanted, helpless Merlin who could very easily get hurt during any struggle.

"You're right," Sigan called back. "It doesn't. You're Balinor Caledonensis, yes? Merlin's father?"

…well, he'd known there was a low chance of getting out of it with his son's secret identity intact. Come to think of it, Merlin might even have been exposed as Emrys to someone besides Morgana, someone who would spill his carefully kept secret to Uther and the rest of the world. It might be only a matter of time before everyone knew that Arthur Pendragon's manservant was also the warlock Emrys.

"Your son?" Morgause murmured, clearly startled. Balinor didn't look in her direction, but he could imagine her expression well enough: surprised, speculative.

"I'm Balinor, yes," he confirmed icily. "Give him back and I'll let you live."

Kilgharrah punctuated his friend's statement with a low, rumbling growl.

"Our family is important to you," Sigan observed. "Persuade—"

" _Our_ family?" Balinor repeated, nails digging into his palms. "You're no kin of mine."

"Oh? Are you not descended from my daughter Ganieda and her son Balor?"

Balinor pulled up short, momentarily nonplussed, before glowering once more. "Even if you're telling the truth about Ganieda's parentage, shared blood doesn't make us family. Now give me back my son."

There was enough light now for the dragonlord to make out Sigan's scowl. "Would you really have him serve a Pendragon, descendent of the man who murdered Brynden, son of the man who massacred your people? Madness is in their blood; Uther is proof enough of that. They deserve to see their legacy destroyed."

"Merlin is not the sort of person to murder thousands of people over a centuries-old grudge," Balinor retorted.

"Is he the sort to let his own legacy rot before it bears fruit? Camelot is foul, corrupt at its core. Any empire that sprouts from a seed like that, with a Pendragon at its head, is doomed even before its birth."

"I've always thought it delightfully ironic that Uther's own son will be the one to undo his life's work," Morgause interjected.

"We seem to have reached a conversational impasse," Kilgharrah observed. "You have no intention of seeing reason, and we have no intention of letting you turn the most powerful warlock to ever live into your slave. I give you one last chance, Sigan. Free Merlin and leave this place or face the consequences."

The ancient warlock stared at them for a long, long moment, weighing them up, calculating how much of a threat they were. An ugly smile twisted his lips. Balinor tensed, anticipating an attack. He ran through the counterspells for lightning, for fire (dragons and dragonlords had some resistance to flames, but Gilli and Morgause didn't), for earthquakes and the parched ground turning to quicksand.

He was _not_ prepared for Sigan to throw Merlin at them. One moment, his son was floating peacefully in the air; the next, he was zooming towards them with his limbs akimbo, too quick for them to move aside. Merlin collided with them in a tangle of arms and legs, tall enough to knock all three to the ground.

Above them, Kilgharrah took flight, his wings snapping open with an audible crack. It was too late, though. Sigan incanted an unfamiliar spell—" _Firstgemearc, gestedige for mec. Gespræde nú ond alief mec geondlacanne betweonum hwilsticceu. Firstgemearc, gestedige_!"

Kilgharrah roared his frustration. Balinor freed enough of himself to look in Sigan's direction. Sure enough, the ancient warlock was gone.

Balinor swore. "How the hell did he teleport out of here?"

"He didn't," Kilgharrah corrected him, wheeling around to land on the plain in front of the ugly tower. "He paused time. By now, he's halfway through the Impenetrable Forest."

"Can we catch him?" Morgause demanded.

Kilgharrah's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. At least I can try." He leapt into the air again, his wings golden in the light of the dawn.

"Does anyone know how to wake him up?" Gilli asked.

"I'll do it," Balinor volunteered.

"Wait a moment," Morgause advised. "Sigan might have done something to him to weaken his mental defenses before consigning him to the Dark Tower."

Mind control was not exactly something dragonlords needed to learn about. The possibility that Sigan had already done something to his son was one that hadn't even occurred to Balinor. He almost asked, "Like what?" but came to his senses at the last moment. What he said was, "How long will that take?"

"Not long," she assured him.

Morgause knelt, took Merlin's slack hands in hers. She began to speak quietly, intently, her eyes gleaming gold. Balinor watched with his heart in his mouth.

The sorceress cast several spells, waiting a few seconds between each one. Sometimes she examined brightly colored sparks that floated out of Merlin's ears or eyes or mouth, other times she peeled back his eyelids to look at his pupils. Balinor had no idea what was going on (neither did Gilli, from the look on his face), but Morgause didn't seem worried or alarmed, so he took comfort in that.

After what felt like a very long time but was probably just a few minutes, Morgause released the warlock's hands. "He's fine," she announced. "I found a minor illusion spell around his eyes in addition to the sleep spell, but nothing affecting his mind."

Balinor sagged with relief. "Thank the gods."

The priestess smiled and removed the sleep spell.

Merlin jerked awake, his breathing ragged. He stared at them with enormous eyes, then choked out, "What?"

Balinor grabbed him in the tightest, fiercest hug he could manage.

Merlin patted him on the back. "It's not that I'm not happy to see you, because I am, but I have no idea what's going on."

"Same here," muttered Gilli.

Merlin blinked at him. "Let's start with the basics: who are you, why is everybody here, where is here, and why am I not Cornelius Sigan's brainwashed slave right now?"

"You knew about him?" Balinor exclaimed.

"He showed up in my dreams, gave some spiel about how I should join him—standard villain stuff except for the part where he claimed he was actually our great-to-the-something-grandfather, which reminds me that I need to speak to Mother about her parents—and when I refused to join him, my dream disappeared. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here. So. What's going on?" He frowned in sudden thought. "Was there some kind of amazing, climactic battle while I was out cold? Because it doesn't look like an amazing, climactic battle took place here."

"No."

"Thought not, although you'd really expect there to have been an amazing climactic battle to get me back. So, again, what's going on?"

Balinor glanced up to the sky. Kilgharrah was still gone, so they had time to explain before going home to the Isle of the Blessed.

Morgause must have had the same thought, for she was the one to begin. "It all started when Morgana le Fey summoned me into her dreams…."

* * *

Hey, look, it's setup in the form of a weird dream sequence instead of action. Just what you wanted, right?

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which There is Not Actually an Exciting Climactic Battle, Even Though You'd Really Expect There to be an Exciting Climactic Battle"_

Spell translates to "Time, stand still for me. Stretch out the now and allow me to move between moments. Time, be still!" I got the words from www. oldenglishtranslator. co. uk

EDIT 9/3/18: I mistakenly stated that the next chapter would feature Merlin's people's loyalty and Arthur's inevitable confrontation with his father. THAT WAS A MISTAKE. Those events will occur in Chapter 26. In chapter 25, Merlin saves an ally and Arthur talks strategy with Leon. I'm sorry for misleading you and then forgetting to correct the mistake until now. Rest assured that the good stuff will happen, just a bit later than you thought. However, update day is still September 7. See you Friday.

-Antares


	25. Confirmation

Chapter XXV: Confirmation

Two hours after dawn, Merlin teleported himself and one other spellbinder to the stream that he and the rest of his traveling party had stopped at for a short mid-afternoon break the day before. It was only a couple hours' ride from their campsite, and he was reasonably certain it was within Morgana's telepathic range. She might not be particularly experienced, but he'd noticed that she had a great deal of raw power. When she learned to use it, she would be a force to be reckoned with.

"I need to make contact first," Morgause reminded him.

"I know," Merlin answered. His stomach was fluttering with nerves. He knew there was a reason he wasn't just walking up to Arthur's party, knew what might have happened, but he was trying not to think about it. No point in fretting until he knew for sure. "We already discussed this."

The priestess closed her eyes in concentration. " _Morgana, sister_?" she silently called. " _We managed to retrieve Merlin Emrys. What happened in your party since we spoke last_?"

Morgana's reply was swift and succinct. " _The guards decided that… Merlin's enchanted Arthur. He's practically their prisoner. Uther's orders, apparently. Gwen and I have been keeping our heads down, and I think there's a few members of our party who might help us escape if it comes to that_."

Merlin went numb inside even as sweat broke out across his brow. Knowing what his friend's response would be, dreading it from head to sole, he choked out, " _When you say they think_ I've _enchanted Arthur_ …."

" _You're all right_!" Morgana exclaimed. The warlock could almost feel the witch's joy and relief through their telepathic connection. " _Thank the gods, Merlin, I was so worried_."

" _I'm fine_ ," he confirmed, " _but, Morgana, who do the guards think enchanted Arthur, Emrys-me or Merlin-me_?"

"… _They know you're the same. I'm so sorry, Merlin_."

Merlin sat down, hard. His head spun, his ears rung, his breath came in ragged pants, and at some point his hands had begun to shake. How long had that been going on? Just now, or since Morgana's first few words?

Morgause slapped him lightly across the face. He jumped. "They know," he whispered, then, silently, " _They know_."

" _They know_ ," Morgana confirmed, a sigh in her mental voice.

Merlin buried his shaking hands in his hair, eyes wide and staring and unseeing. " _Then soon Uther will know too, and he'll spread the word through the bloodcloaks and the rest of the people and_ everyone _will know I'm a warlock. Oh gods. Oh_ gods. _They're going to—oh, gods, Morgana! Are you and Arthur and Gwen safe_?"

" _We're fine_ ," she assured him. " _Like I said, we're keeping our heads down. But. If they do try anything—and they won't. They don't want to risk irritating Uther by hurting me, and Gwen's under my protection—I think we could escape. Elyan won't let anyone harm his sister, Gwaine seems pretty sympathetic to you, and I think that even Leon might help. We'll be fine, I promise. What about you_?"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from Merlin's belly. " _How am I_?" he shrilled. " _Aside from the fact that I've been exposed as a warlock to the entirety of Camelot, I'm just fine and dandy_!" His breathing was still too fast, and the shaking of his hands had yet to abate.

" _I meant about Sigan_ ," Morgana clarified.

" _Oh. Him_." The ancient warlock seemed very unimportant at that moment. " _He didn't manage to do anything_."

" _He's still at large, though_ ," Morgause cut in. Merlin had almost forgotten she was there. It was hard to focus on anything other than his pounding heart, the blood rushing through his veins, the sickness and fear in his gut. " _He managed to escape us by pausing time and running through the Impenetrable Forest. However, I doubt he'll be up to causing any trouble for a while yet. Pausing time takes a great deal of energy."_

Merlin didn't care about Sigan. He was dizzy, his head spinning, his stomach turbulent. Was he going to throw up? Because it felt like he was going to throw up. Oh gods. He really didn't want to throw up, especially in front of Morgause.

" _How much time_?" Morgana asked.

" _I don't know. No one remembers exactly how powerful Sigan was—is—and we have no way of knowing how long he kept time from moving. I imagine he'll lay low for at least a day or two, possibly longer if he needs time to plan_."

" _So perhaps we'll be back in Camelot when he strikes_ ," Morgana speculated. She paused for a moment, then added, " _Merlin, are you sure you're all right? You're being uncharacteristically quiet_."

" _I'll be fine once I stop panicking_."

There was silence for a moment before Morgana instructed, " _Merlin. Go to the Isle of the Blessed. Sleep, plan, keep translating that grimoire. I'll tell Arthur and Gwen you're all right. You just need to go and figure out what you'll do now_."

Merlin nodded before remembering that she couldn't see him. " _Okay. That… that sounds like a good idea. Maybe the grimoire will tell me what would actually happen if we used Excalibur or Beothaich on a resurrected spirit_."

" _Good plan. Be safe, okay?_ "

" _I'll try_."

The connection between them shorted out, leaving Merlin alone with his fear and his regrets. Oh, if only he'd known whether it was safe to use Beothaich when Sigan was possessing—

Gaius.

The warlock's head jerked up, eyes widening with another kind of fear.

Merlin's secret would be known to Camelot within mere days. Nothing he did, short of murdering any potential squealers or putting them in an enchanted sleep or something equally immoral, would change that. And when Uther learned that Emrys was the physician's ward, what would he do to Gaius? Would he believe that his old friend knew nothing about Merlin's duplicity, or would he realize that the physician must have known?

Swallowing hard, the warlock stood up. He met Morgause's gaze. "Thank you again for your help, priestess. I have something else I need to take care of before going to the Isle of the Blessed. If you wanted to go back—or if you wanted to do anything at all, I suppose—feel free."

She inclined her head ever so slightly. "My lord."

"I'm not a—"

But Morgause was gone, vanished into a whirlwind.

Merlin groaned, wondering why everyone was so insistent he was some kind of lord when he very clearly wasn't. Maybe it was just a big joke and they were laughing at him behind his back. Yes, that must be it. But. Back to Gaius.

A few words and a moment's concentration brought him to Kilgharrah's old cave. A few more words rendered him practically invisible. He stalked through the halls of the castle, avoiding other people with the ease of long practice. (If he walked more slowly than usual, if he spent more time than he strictly needed to taking it all in, nobody needed to know.) Soon he stood in front of the physician's chambers and realized that he had no idea what he was going to say, how he was going to explain what was going on. And what would he do if one of the guards came in while—no, no, that was silly. These guards didn't know who he was yet. He was still safe here.

Still, he created an illusion. If nothing else, wearing Gilli's face made him feel a bit safer.

Yet despite the fact that he was completely ready, he still hesitated before pushing open the door. It was silly, he knew, but… somehow, it felt like telling Gaius would make his exposure more real.

The physician had a patient, something Merlin considered both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it gave him time to gather his thoughts, to plan out what he wanted to say. On the other, it gave him more time to fret and sweat.

The patient was one of the guards. In just a few days, that man would be out for his blood. He'd hunt Merlin like an animal, and if he caught him…. Uther enjoyed spectacle, but he was practical when he needed to be. Doubtless he'd give the order to kill Merlin Emrys on sight.

(Merlin knew the guards. He wasn't exactly friendly with any of them, not since Lancelot left, but they'd nodded amiably at each other in the hallways, made jokes about his supposed insomnia. He knew them, and soon they were going to drive him out of his home because they'd kill him if they ever caught him.)

If there was one good thing about Merlin's anxiety, it was that his constant squirming and obvious discomfort kept anyone from suspecting he wasn't visiting Gaius for a health complaint.

As the guard left, Gaius gestured for Merlin to come over. The warlock frowned, momentarily confused, before realizing that of course his mentor wouldn't recognize him when he was wearing Gilli's face (speaking of mentors, he ought to get in contact with Blaise soon too). He glanced at the door, willed it to lock, and dropped his disguise.

To his credit, Gaius's shock didn't last long. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, obviously worried. "Did something happen?"

Merlin opened his mouth, a sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue. _You could say that,_ he fully intended to say. But when he tried to speak, nothing came out but a pained whimper.

Gaius stood, rushed over to him, even more alarmed than before. "Are you all right?"

He wanted to say he was. He wanted it to be true. But he wasn't.

"…I will be. I hope."

Gaius embraced him briefly, warm and solid and real. He smelled like herbs and smoke and long hours learning medicine in this very room. He pulled away too soon.

"Tell me what happened."

Merlin nodded and obeyed.

He started with his decision to confide in Arthur before detailing the prince's reaction, his confusion, his lucky guess that Morgana had magic too. Then he talked about getting word that Sigan was possessing Uther and all that happened then. He finished with an account of his kidnapping, including the knowledge that Sigan was apparently his ancestor, and Morgana's words from earlier that morning.

"So basically they know, they're coming to Camelot, and soon everybody else will know too." Merlin shuddered. "And I, I had to warn you, because I know you like Uther and that he spared you during the Purge, but there's a high chance he'll realize you knew about me all along and… not spare you this time."

Gaius stared into nothingness as he absorbed his nephew's report. He looked old, then, old and tired and a little bit lost. Then he sighed heavily, breath rattling in his throat. "Well. I suppose this was inevitable."

Merlin flinched. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't ask Sigan to expose you, Merlin, and while I'm not sure if I approve of the risk you took in telling Arthur, it seems to have paid off. It's not your fault. I always knew, taking you in, that circumstances beyond anyone's control could conspire to reveal you."

"Then why did you take me in?" Merlin asked, uncharacteristically vulnerable. "If you knew that no matter how hard we both tried, I might end up exposed anyways. Why would you risk your life, your reputation, your career, your home—gods, I've ruined everything for you."

"Oh, Merlin." Gaius clasped a hand on his ward's shoulder. "You're my family. Hunith's only child, Demetrius's grandson. I held you when you were born and put the illusion on your eyes. I might not have visited much, but Hunith's letters were full of your adventures. You were—are—worth the risk."

Merlin sniffled. It was hard to see, for some reason, the edges of his vision blurring. He blinked to clear his eyesight and forced a smile. "Thank you. You're my family too, Gaius."

The old man smiled back. "You're welcome." His smile faded, replaced by something more pensive. "You said that the guards who can expose you won't be here for another few days?"

"That's right," the warlock confirmed, a bit thrown by the sudden change of subject.

Gaius nodded, determined. "Then I have enough time to finish today's work and pack my things."

"…I suppose you do. Should I come back after sunset, then?"

"I would appreciate that, yes."

"I'll see you then."

After his conversation with Gaius, Merlin's day passed in spurts and stalls (mostly stalls). Sometimes, usually when another person who'd recently learned his identity as both Emrys and the local nobles' son came up and asked what had happened, wanting information directly from the source, time passed far too quickly. The rest of the time, though, the hours seemed to crawl by as his anxiety took over and he realized anew that he would be exposed to literally everyone in Camelot within just a couple days, that the secret he'd guarded his entire life was known to all.

It shouldn't be this scary. Merlin knew that. He was safe, he was going to ensure Gaius's safety, and it wasn't like he didn't have anyplace else to go. But each time someone saw his real face and recognized him, a sickly feeling curdled in his gut as he remembered that soon, soon, soon everyone would know.

Gods, he wished he could get that fact out of his head, or at least that he could internalize how ridiculous his fear was. He knew it wasn't as bad as the panicky part of his brain kept trying to insist. He just had to make himself believe it.

Fear, Merlin reflected glumly, did _not_ listen well to reason.

Eventually, he had to get away from everybody else. He retreated to the room that was now his and collapsed onto the hastily assembled bed, staring into space.

Merlin didn't know how long he laid there, exhausted but unsleeping, before the creak of an opening door attracted his attention.

Hunith stepped inside, a sad smile on her face. Though she was technically a lady now (something which she definitely deserved, in Merlin's opinion), she wore the simple clothing of a farmer from Ealdor, just like she had when he was a little boy, only made from better-quality fabrics. She was familiar and comforting in a way that her son hadn't known he needed.

They were in each other's arms almost before Merlin had processed her presence.

It wasn't the first time they'd seen each other that day, of course. It wasn't even the first time they'd hugged. She'd been there that morning when he first arrived back on the Isle of the Blessed with the confirmation that yes, he had indeed been exposed and couldn't return to Camelot. Hell, she'd been the one to show him this room. But it was the first time since her wedding that they'd had an opportunity for a long private talk.

"Are you all right, my little falcon?"

The sound of his childhood pet name made his lips quirk up. "Mother, I've been taller than you for years."

Though he couldn't see her face, he knew Hunith was smiling. "You'll always be my little falcon," she assured him.

"…Even though everyone knows about my magic now?"

"Of course," she replied, sounding genuinely surprised. "I've always known that this was a possibility, from the moment I saw your eyes." He stiffened slightly in her arms. Mildly concerned, Hunith asked, "Merlin?"

"I suppose that I should take the illusion off now, shouldn't I?"

"If you want to. You're you either way."

"…I think I might as well."

When Merlin pulled away from her, his eyes gleamed their natural gold.

Hunith grinned at him. "I always did think you were very handsome this way."

That was right, she'd apparently been seeing through the illusion off-and-on since Gaius had put it there, which reminded him of something he'd wanted to talk to her about. "Say, Mother, I think I might have figured out the truth behind your birth parents."

Tonight, he would go back to Camelot for Gaius and Blaise and his things. For now, though, he would speak with his mother and make this foreign room a little bit more his home.

* * *

Despite knowing from Morgana that Merlin was okay (although he did take issue with her method of telling him, which had nearly startled him off his horse), Arthur was in a rotten mood for the rest of the day. Perhaps it had something to do with the lack of detail (because he knew he wasn't just imagining her caginess about how she'd gotten in contact with other spellbinders). Perhaps it was because he was practically being held hostage by his own bloody guards. Most likely it was a combination of the two.

Morgana's insistence that they had at least a little bit of time before Sigan attacked again was pretty much the only bright spot. (Well, that and Merlin's freedom, but that went without saying.) Arthur couldn't help but wonder when that attack would be. At this pace, they'd reach Camelot at about sunset tomorrow. Part of him feared that Sigan only needed today to recover, that he'd come home tomorrow to find a smoldering ruin where the citadel should be. Part of him wondered whether Sigan would attack right after his arrival, wipe out the Pendragons root and stem in one fell swoop. Or perhaps he'd wait until later, wait for them to let their guard down.

Arthur honestly didn't know which option would be worst. Probably the first, he eventually decided; at least in the other two situations, he'd be able to do something about the inevitable attack.

With that grim thought in mind, he rode up alongside Leon. "When do you think Sigan will attack?"

The knight grimaced. "That probably depends on what he's doing to Merlin."

Oh, right. Arthur had told him (and the eavesdroppers, he supposed) so much last night that he'd forgotten what Leon didn't know. Of course he had no idea that Merlin had escaped, somehow.

"…Let's just assume for the moment that Merlin is secretly far more competent than he lets on and somehow manages to escape."

"So did he get in contact with you somehow?" Gwaine asked.

By this point, Arthur probably shouldn't have been surprised by the vagabond's shameless eavesdropping, or by the fact that Elyan was trying to look like he wasn't listening in.

"No. No he did not."

"If you say so."

Arthur's face twitched ever so slightly. "And even if he had, I'd have no way of knowing whether it was him or if he was being controlled."

"…Good point."

"Either way, I don't think he'll attack until after we're back," Leon speculated. "He seems to like letting a bit of time pass between his assaults. I don't think he comes up with many backup plans, so he'd need to plot out each new strategy after each failure. I've noticed that he likes having a huge advantage over his opponents: attacking you in your bedroom, bringing along the Knights of Medhir and leaving as soon as Em—Merlin showed up, making sure Merlin was unconscious last night before he made his appearance. So he'll need at least a little time to find his next big advantage and form a plan around it."

"That's what I thought, too," Arthur admitted. "So. We'll have time to plan a counterattack."

Leon's smile was almost wolfish. "I suspect you're right, sire, especially once we can get more information."

Arthur nodded, his rebellious brain thinking about the other implication of Sigan's probable timeline, the thing he'd been anticipating and dreading and wanting since he'd learned his mother's fate.

Merlin or no Merlin, Sigan would attack. That much, the prince knew, was inevitable. But first he and his party would arrive home, and then….

…and then, Arthur would have a _much_ overdue talk with his father.

* * *

So it turns out that NEXT chapter is the one where Merlin begins to see his peoples' loyalty and Arthur has that confrontation with Uther. I edited the teaser thing a few days ago, but, well, a lot of you probably haven't seen that. The next chapter will be up September 28

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which Merlin Wears Another Character's Face as a Mask, But in a Good Way"_

Lengthy AN: I've completed the draft for this fic! It will be 28 chapters plus an epilogue that's rather longer than the epilogue from Book I. I've got a bunch of ideas for Book III, though I haven't figured out a title yet, and have organized them into a rough outline. It will be different from the other books in that there will be multiple parallel plotlines that I can hopefully weave together at the end. I'm still working on the details, obviously, but I know how to get the ball rolling. Wish me luck!

-Antares


	26. Sins of the Father

Chapter XXVI: Sins of the Father

"No," Merlin sighed. "Still nothing. Thank you, though." He slipped off the ring, returning it to its master.

Gilli pocketed the enhancer with a shrug. "It was worth a try, though."

"I wish I was better at scrying," Merlin sighed, scowling at the bowl in front of him. "Are either of you any good at scrying?"

Gilli and his friend Freya shook their heads. "I suppose you could ask Morgause," the other warlock suggested dubiously.

"I did earlier today. She started talking about how there's about forty things Sigan could have done either alone or in tandem that could make scrying for him difficult or impossible, and she doesn't even know how to undo all of them. Nimueh probably did, but, well, I sort of killed her, so she's not going to be much help."

"Ah," said Gilli, " _that's_ why things were so tense between you on the way back. I thought it was because of the mind control thing."

"It's both of them, really," Merlin admitted.

"I think that you'll have to go back to your original plan," Freya told him. Merlin hadn't known her for long (the same could be said about Gilli), but he liked them both already. They were the sort of spellbinder he'd always wanted to know.

"You could get people to take shifts," Gilli suggested. "I'd do it if I knew how to scry."

"Maybe," Merlin muttered, uncomfortable at the thought of asking people to do his work. He'd always felt that if he was the one who'd taken on the task, he ought to be the one to complete it.

(Something niggled at the back of his brain, something about a promise and a dream, but the thought fled as soon as he tried to pursue it.)

"I would too," Freya seconded. "Merlin, how long did it take you to learn to scry?"

"About a month," he confessed, embarrassed. "And then I kept improving for awhile after."

"Oh. Well, perhaps Gilli and I could go recruiting instead of scrying Camelot ourselves."

"That's really not necessary," Merlin insisted.

"We want to," Gilli told him bluntly. "You're the first person who has a chance of winning freedom for people like us, and we want to help."

Merlin swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Thank you. But I'm still not sure—"

Gilli and Freya glanced at each other. "We'll get started, then." And they were out the door before Merlin could gather his wits enough to protest.

The warlock stared after them in silent disbelief before he gave a little huff, leaning back in his chair. At least they weren't 'my lord'-ing him.

He couldn't scry Sigan, and he'd just looked in on Camelot. There was only one thing left for him to check up on.

Merlin spoke the words for scrying, watched the water blur and color until it showed him Arthur and his party on the road to the citadel. The group's mood seemed tense and uncomfortable, just as it had been the last three times he checked up on them. Arthur was rigid and glowering, Morgana cold and stoic, Gwen quiet and worried. The guards traveled around him, looking more like a prisoner's escort than a prince's companions. No doubt they had orders from Uther about what to do if Arthur had been 'corrupted' by magic.

Sometimes, Merlin felt like he knew the king better than Arthur ever had.

"I'm going to talk with you tonight," Merlin told him quietly. "I think I owe you that much, at least, and you definitely need to know that he has the Raven's Key. So don't yell at your father too much, all right? It'll be a lot easier to meet with you if you're not in the dungeons." He frowned slightly. "Or maybe it wouldn't be. Less chance of people just walking by and noticing I've put the guards under a sleep spell. Never mind, then, I take back what I say. Yell at him to your heart's content."

Arthur said nothing, of course. He had no way of hearing his now-former servant. But Merlin thought he looked better than he had yesterday, at least. More pensive, less sullen. Maybe he was preemptively working on witty retorts to Uther's inevitable outraged tirade. It was what Merlin would do in his situation.

But pensive or sullen or somewhere in between, Arthur was all right. He wasn't exactly free, but he was safe, and Cornelius Sigan was nowhere in sight.

Merlin let his gaze linger a moment longer, then turned back to his ancestor's grimoire. He had work to do.

* * *

Arthur was brought to the throne room immediately, alone except for his guards-turned-captors. Uther was having an audience with the Shoemaker's Guild, but he took one look at the guards surrounding his son and began making polite excuses. The shoemakers had to know that they were being put aside, but they were perfectly amiable about it, agreeing to reconvene tomorrow. It was getting late anyways, they commented.

Uther barely waited until the door was shut. "Well?"

Harris, the most virulently anti-magical guard, took a step forward, but Arthur preempted him. "Merlin is Emrys."

The king pulled up short, looking more flabbergasted than Arthur had ever seen him. The prince couldn't help but take a certain grim satisfaction in his father's shock.

"He confessed his identity to me at Tintagel," Arthur continued, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "I agreed to pardon him in exchange for his aid against Cornelius Sigan, whom Merlin has trapped in mortal flesh so as to prevent any more possessions." Not exactly what had happened (though honestly, he'd probably have granted Merlin an official pardon if he'd been thinking straight) but close enough for Arthur's purposes. "However, two nights ago, Sigan kidnapped Merlin in an explicitly stated attempt at controlling his mind. I propose that we organize a rescue mission to prevent Sigan from gaining control of another powerful warlock's mind and killing us all."

Uther spluttered. He was clearly trying to say something, but he couldn't quite force it out past his shock. His face was making the strangest contortions, cycling between red and purple and white.

The prince's escort was gaping at him too. Several jaws hung off their hinges, and one man looked like he was on the verge of passing out.

Arthur waited.

It was almost silent for a few long moments, the quiet only broken by Uther's incredulous noises. Finally he regained enough control of himself to choke out, "You want to use the resources of Camelot to _rescue_ a sorcerer?"

He did, though he knew damn well that his father would never permit it. The suggestion was partly to get Uther off guard, partly a show of alliance, and partly a means to make anything he proposed later sound downright reasonable in comparison.

"Merlin is technically a warlock, but yes, I do."

"Of course we won't!" Uther yelled. "We're going to kill him!"

"I granted him a pardon, Father. I cannot go back on my word."

"You will light the pyre yourself if I command it."

And Arthur smiled, grim and tight, because _this_ was his opening. "Would you really do that to the man who killed Nimueh and avenged my mother?"

Uther froze, the color draining from his face.

"Of course," Arthur continued, his face and voice carefully bland, "that assumes that Nimueh was, in fact, responsible for my mother's death, and she didn't simply die in childbirth like thousands of women do each year without supernatural intervention. I wouldn't have any idea, as I didn't even know I'd been born of magic until I randomly overheard it in a tavern."

Uther might as well have been carved from chalk.

Part of him had been hoping that it wasn't true, that Merlin had fallen for some trick of Morgause's (or even that Morgause had fallen for one of Nimeuh's lies. He wasn't picky), that the father he still loved hand murdered thousands of people over a death that might or might not have been entirely magical. Merlin had told him on the road to Tintagel that there was no way to know for certain if magic had caused Ygraine's death—the prisoner selected as a sacrifice had died long before she breathed her last—and though Arthur hadn't known about his magic then, he thought that his servant was being honest. But now, looking at his father's reaction, Arthur felt that hope crumble and die.

He clenched his fists, nails biting deep into his palms. His hands were shaking; when he spoke, his voice shook too. "Why did you really start the Purge, Father? Was it justice or revenge?"

"It was justice!" Uther roared, rising from his throne. "Justice for your mother and for everyone else the scum ever harmed. I broke the High Priestesses, I destroyed the dragons, I drove out monster after monster for her! And Camelot has prospered because of my actions."

Arthur thought of the bandits running wild, the druids hiding in the forest, how completely defenseless they'd have been against Sigan if not for Merlin. "No, I don't think that it has."

Color flooded Uther's face again. "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy."

"Really? And whose fault might that be, Father?"

The air was thick, heavy, charged. The prince met the king's eyes, refusing to look away.

Uther was the first to drop his gaze. He turned to the guards. "My son has clearly been enchanted. Bring him to the dungeons and call for—" His face twisted with something like sorrow "—find someone in the city to look him over."

The guards stuttered their agreement, practically falling over themselves as they led Arthur out of the room. The prince stood straight and tall and true, his head high.

It wasn't until he was in the dungeons that he let himself break.

With a wordless snarl of rage, Arthur banged his fist against the wall. His skin broke against the rough stone, but he couldn't care less. He hit it and hit it and hit it until his knuckles bled, snarling incoherencies and curses. At long last, his rage spent, he staggered over and collapsed into his cot.

That was how his father found him an hour or so later. The king was escorted by the captain of the guard and a pair of unfamiliar men. Arthur wanted very badly to roll onto his side and just stare at the wall, but he knew he'd never get away with that.

"Come over here, Arthur," Uther ordered.

The prince made a show of stretching before he obeyed.

The first man nodded in what he clearly thought was a sage manner. "Yes, it's quite likely he's been enchanted, sire."

A muscle jumped in Uther's jaw. "I'm well aware that he's enchanted, Halig. Your orders are to fix him, not tell me something I already knew."

Halig? Arthur frowned, trying to remember if he'd ever seen this man (or the other one who hadn't been named) in his life. Then another thought occurred to him. "Where's Gaius?

Uther flinched slightly, sorrow crossing his face before being covered again by stone. "The former court physician has disappeared. Doubtless he was warned by his sorcerous ward that they had been exposed and fled the citadel before justice could be served."

"Oh, good." For a second, Arthur had been worried that his father had thrown Gaius into the dungeons (it was a large dungeon, and Gaius could have easily been imprisoned too far away for Arthur to notice him).

Halig and the other stranger (were they witchfinders? Bounty hunters? Arthur didn't recognize either of them) glanced at each other and nodded. Apparently everything Arthur said would be treated as evidence of enchantment—or at least, everything he said that his father didn't want to hear.

Had he really been so compliant all his life?

He'd seen this sort of interrogation before, though obviously he'd never been on the receiving end of it. Halig and the other man asked the same sort of questions that Gaius would have, though Arthur got the impression they were holding back because of his station. Gaius held himself back too, but it was out of respect for the person rather than their title.

Arthur answered the questions calmly, rationally, and mostly honestly. He wouldn't bring Morgana or Guinevere into this, of course, and he stuck with his lie about granting Merlin an official pardon. Other than that, though, he told the truth, presenting it in the best possible light: Merlin chose to reveal himself at Tintagel, and Arthur, realizing that another spellbinder was their best chance against the deranged lunatic who wanted to kill them all and _really_ should have been their first priority, had accepted his aid against the older warlock. He hesitated a moment after that, but, well, Gaius was already safe, and the surviving Catha were already condemned, so he launched into the story of how Merlin had bound Sigan in mortal flesh.

Surprisingly, the tale took longer than the rest of the interrogation, mostly because someone interrupted every few seconds. It was really quite annoying, and Arthur found himself wondering if this was how Merlin had felt when he told him about his secret. But he had to tell them, or at least his father. He needed to know that Sigan couldn't possess anyone anymore.

His three questioners seemed to regard the incident as proof that he was even more enchanted than they'd thought, which was rather annoying. "You know damn well I'm not enchanted," he told his father. Uther ignored him.

By the time they left, Arthur felt like he'd been wrung out and left to dry. He'd been tired when they came in, exhausted by his assault on the wall, but now all he wanted to do was sleep. Yawning with enough force to crack his jaw, the prince made his way to his cold, narrow cot and shut his eyes.

Arthur slept awhile, only to be shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin?"

"Hello, Arthur." The warlock's grin was sheepish. "I was sort of hoping that you wouldn't be in here, but I suppose I can make do."

"It's surprisingly good to see you," Arthur retorted, fighting down a grin of his own. The prince didn't know how long he'd slept, but it had obviously been enough to restore him. That, or Merlin had done something magical to make him sleep better.

Could spellbinders even do that?

He paused, looking over his now-ex-servant. Merlin wore his Emrys garb, Beothaich in his hands, his eyes gleaming gold in the light of the orb floating above them.

"Did you do something to me?"

"What?" Merlin was utterly befuddled.

"Do something to me," he repeated, gesturing incoherently.

"What happened to your hands?" Merlin demanded.

"…I got in a fight."

"With what, the wall?"

It was clearly meant to be sarcastic, but Arthur's startled expression was proof enough.

Merlin huffed. "The wall, Arthur? Really?"

"That's not important," he muttered sullenly. "Did you do something to help me sleep or not?"

"Nope. You're probably just exhausted from fighting the wall. They're vicious, you know."

"Shut up, Merlin."

There was something fond in Merlin's smile. "You know, I was afraid we wouldn't do this anymore after I told you. It's nice to be wrong, sometimes."

Arthur glanced away. "That's not shutting up."

Silence, but it was a smiling silence.

Arthur turned back. "Yes, well, I suppose you've come here for a reason. What happened?"

Merlin launched into his tale. Arthur was pleased to realize that he was getting better at listening to Merlin's ridiculous stories; he didn't splutter once, though he did snort at the part where Sigan literally threw the younger warlock at his rescue party.

"I spent most of the last day intermittently scrying and translating the grimoire," the warlock concluded. He grinned, his teeth a white crescent. "And guess what? Unless Gaius, Kilgharrah, and I are gravely misunderstanding what we've read, Sigan _can_ be killed by Excalibur or Beothaich. He obviously didn't write down 'I can be killed by dragonsteel and Sidhe staffs,' but he sort of mixed and matched bits from necromancy, healing, and enchantment. Nothing he used is immune to our weapons. I'd still want to find the anchor and chuck it into the Lake of Avalon just to be on the safe side, but one good hit should be enough to end this."

"Good," said Arthur, relieved. A weight lightened on his shoulders, something he'd been carrying for so long he'd nearly forgotten it was there. With the end in sight, even breathing felt a little bit easier.

Then it was his turn. Merlin was pleasantly surprised to hear that Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine didn't particularly appear to care that he had magic, and he laughed out loud at Arthur's description of his confrontation with Uther.

"It wasn't so funny at the time," Arthur pointed out, but his lips twitched upwards without his consent.

Finally, story time was over. The prince and the spellbinder were quiet for a long moment, mulling things over.

Merlin was the first to speak. "Sigan's still out there. I think that if I can't find him soon, I'll have to do something crazy. Maybe the Crystal of Neahtid can be used for scrying."

"I don't know what that is, but you—"

"Oh!" Merlin's eyes (still golden. Did maintaining the light take that much magic?) widened. "I almost forgot a… rather important detail."

Dread curdled in Arthur's stomach. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but you need to. When Sigan was possessing Gaius, he learned the location of the Raven's Key. It's in his hands now."

"…The Raven's Key is the thing that animates a literal army of invincible gargoyles and compels them to obey the wielder's every command, right?"

"Yes. That sounds about right."

"And you almost _forgot_ to tell me?"

"It's been a long week," Merlin groused, but Arthur wasn't listening.

The prince began to pace. "The knights and guards need to know about this. I'll have to tell them about your visit."

The warlock grimaced but nodded. "That means I won't be able to visit you anymore. Gaius and my parents were already against me coming here. They'd probably drug me if they thought I was going to try again."

"Also, the guards would set an ambush to try to kill you."

"That too."

Sometimes, Arthur was very concerned about his now-former manservant's priorities. "Yes, another minor detail that actually isn't so minor."

"Well—"

But whatever Merlin was going to say died in his throat. He went completely still. He wasn't even breathing.

Arthur spun to face the door. Was there a guard? But he couldn't see anybody. After a moment of squinting down the dark corridor, he whispered, "What frightened you?"

Merlin met his gaze. "I think Sigan just used the Raven's Key." His grip tightened on Beothaich. "Where's Excalibur?"

"Hopefully in my chambers. Can it be used to defeat the gargoyles?"

"Yes."

 _Take me up,_ Arthur remembered. "Then let's go."

The door swung open.

Far above them, the first alarm bells began to ring.

* * *

Alternate chapter title: " _In Which Arthur Looks Like a Bloody Lunatic Even Though He's Actually the Voice of Reason_ "

Got a new part-time job and am still searching for a long-term career, so my writing's been slower. Fortunately I have a buffer, but I need to start it up again.

Next update: October 19. The battle begins.


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